


Decisions

by Elveny, Kunstpause



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe, Fictober, Fictober 2019, Gen, for each chapter if applicable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2020-11-08 21:21:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 27,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20842193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elveny/pseuds/Elveny, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kunstpause/pseuds/Kunstpause
Summary: 31 prompts for Fictober 2019 all following the same theme - What could one single decision have changed?





	1. "It will be fun, trust me."

“It is fascinating, is it not?”

Mythal’s voice had that slightly amused and yet faraway note she was so prone to adopt when she was thinking, _plotting _something.

Fen’harel did not turn from where he was looking over the landscape stretching before them. Clouds, golden and red-rimmed from the sinking sun spotted the sky, the ground beneath the towering trees already dark from the encroaching shadows. A flock of birds flew up, their mournful cries drowning out the flutter of their wings. He followed them with his eyes, a stern look on his face.

A whisper of cloth behind him as Mythal moved, coming to stand next to him, one hand resting on the pillar. He sighed soundlessly.

“What is?” he asked, more to amuse her than because of interest.

Even without looking at her, he knew she was smiling. “Mortals. Destiny. Coincidence. Fate. Chance. Immortality. Take your pick.”

For a long time, neither of them said anything, the sounds of the forest and the falling night filling the air around them.

“I have often wondered how they manage to stumble through their short, meaningful lives without being aware of their impact," she said. "Tiny decisions rippling through the world and changing history.”

Fen’harel felt her gaze upon him as if she had touched him, and willed himself to look back at her. As expected, she smiled.

“You know this, of course,” she said darkly. “Although your decisions were not so tiny, and the ripples were tears in the fabric of time. Patience was never a virtue you treasured.”

“Hm,” he hummed, holding her gaze. “Though I am not the only one who changed history.”

Her laughter did not surprise him, but the touch did. She laid her hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “True enough. A nudge, a shove, a tear — what’s the difference?” The look in her eyes was calculating but not unkind. “But where my leash was given willingly and out of necessity, yours was taken without you noticing. And now we are both bound. Bound to the world, touched by mortality.”

Mythal took a step towards him, her voice barely more than a whisper, hoarse and dark, heavy with truth as it wrapped itself around him and settled on his shoulders. “She holds you still. You know that. And if you’re not careful, you will pull her down with you once you hurdle yourself down the path of destruction.”

He did not answer, just looked back out into the forest. Another silence fell.

“Come, old friend,” Mythal said, turning away again and walking to the middle of the pavilion where the Eluvian stood.

“I am not ready to leave yet,” he said stiffly, eliciting another low laugh.

“I am not asking you to,” she answered.

It was enough to make him turn around, raising his eyebrows in an unspoken question. Mythal raised her hand to the Eluvian, sending ripples over its shimmering surface. But instead of opening to the Crossroads, faces began to flicker over it, events, whispers of words and screams fluttering through the air. He recognized some of them, although they were altered from how he knew them, and he found himself fascinated. Every movement of her hand brought another picture.

“Even if they haven’t, I have noted the moments where a single decision changed the course of this world forever,” she murmured, her voice mesmerizing and multilayered in the twilight. “Come and see, old friend.”

Fen’harel hesitated for a second, then he walked slowly over to where she stood. “Will you show me my failure again, Mythal?” he asked, but she chuckled.

“Ah, Fen’harel. _Solas._” The name made him tense, but she did not look away from the Eluvian. “Your decisions are among many. Do not underestimate their ability to have an impact that touches the very essence of existence.”

“I don’t,” he said softly, and for the first time since he had walked over to her, she looked at him. Her face, lined and human, touched by this world so much more than he, softened.

“No. I don’t suppose you do.” Then her eyes hardened again, a spark in the darkness. “So come then, see where this world could have fallen into a darkness beyond even our control, Fen’harel.” Her lips curved into something that was more of a grin than a smile, an echo of the woman that legions had feared shimmering around her. “It will be fun. Trust me.”


	2. "Just follow me, I know the area."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check end notes for Chapter Warnings

“Just follow me, I know the area.” The red-haired woman had something decisive to her voice, her posture, her entire demeanor. Everything about her made it obvious that this woman was a soldier, used to both give and follow orders. Her assured stance and the ease with her sword and shield made it obvious that she might be their best bet of getting out of here. If not for the man behind her.

“No!” Leandra heard herself say. To her own surprise, her voice was much more stable than she had anticipated. Only moments ago, she had been ready to despair, their attempts of fleeing from the Horde closing in on Lothering seemingly futile. Leandra had been ready to give up. Neither Adriene nor Carver had returned from Ostagar, and from the rumors making it to Lothering, it had become more and more clear that they never would. Almost no one had returned from Ostagar, after all.

Leandra wasn’t a fighter, and despite Malcolm's training, neither were her two remaining children. Bethany’s affinity drifted towards healing while Cassia was more interested in potions than actual magic. But it didn’t matter that none of them were equipped for this. Not anymore. Not in this situation. 

As Leandra watched the templar standing behind the warrior woman who had just offered them their help, she vehemently shook her head before repeating, “No!”

She could feel her daughters’ eyes on her as she squared her shoulders. “I am afraid we will have to decline your offer and find our own way out of here.” With a last nod, Leandra grimly looked ahead before starting to walk past the two of them. Cassia and Bethany followed without another word. There was a grim resolve in her heart. She did not spend the last twenty years hiding and on the run, doing everything in her power to protect her children just to let them willingly follow a templar now. They had gotten this far already, despite everything. Against all odds. She would sooner throw herself in front of the Darkspawn than exchange her children’s freedom for an additional sword arm. 

This blighted Horde had taken two of her children already, she would be damned to let a templar of all people take the other two. Leandra felt something of the resolve that had led her to leave her home and family behind to start a new life with the man she loved burn in her. Old, almost forgotten strength of will flowed through her as they kept walking, running, hiding. One step at a time, not daring to look back to where Lothering was glowing with the faint shade of flames behind them. Her family was all that mattered now. All that had ever mattered.

‘How fitting’, she thought not an hour later, hands clenched into blood-stained clothes as the ogre that had killed first Bethany, then Cassia, turned towards her, and Leandra had to accept that all the resolve in the world might not matter in the end. But she didn’t look at the monster charging towards her. Her hand reached out, clutching Cassia’s still hand into her own. Bethany’s head lay in her lap, eyes closed like so many times when she had fallen asleep on the couch, and Leandra could only look at them one last time, a sad smile on her lips. Family was all that mattered. At least in a few moments, they would all be together again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major Character Death


	3. “Now? Now you listen to me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check end notes for Chapter Warnings

It was like a dance, Danarius thought with an approving smile, the way his little wolf fought. He couldn’t help but be amused at the screams. They were useless, of course.

Fenris’ body flickered in and out of sight, the lyrium edged into his skin illuminating the half-light in ghostly blue-and-white streaks. Even the blood splattering through the air seemed nearly white as another life was crushed in Fenris’ fist. Danarius took a deep, satisfied breath and folded his arms in front of his chest.

When they had caught up with his little escapee, he had actually feared for a split-second that there would be problems, seeing Fenris surrounded by Fog Warriors ready to defend him. After all, his little slave had already done the unthinkable and tried to escape, despite the leash, despite the fact that his memories, his whole life consisted only of him, of Danarius. But then, he had seen the defeat already flickering in Fenris’ eyes. All it had taken was a trickle of magic, a nearly imperceptive bond connecting to the lyrium in Fenris’ skin.

Who saw the shiver running over Fenris’ body but him?

He barely had to raise his voice, to make the command take hold in Fenris’ very being.

“Kill them all!”

It had been that silence afterwards, that moment before the lyrium flared up that had woken doubts, but then the light had gone from Fenris’ eyes.

“Yes, master.”

And the screams had begun.

Danarius felt laughter bubbling up inside him. “Now?” he chuckled. “Now you listen to me? When your freedom was there for the taking?” His voice got drowned in the screams and the wet sounds of another heart being ripped apart, of bodies hitting the ground, and the Fog Warriors’ futile attempts to defend themselves.

He wasted no further resources, signaling his own warriors to hold back as he watched Fenris lay devastation and death around him. There was a satisfied smile on his face, but his eyes were thoughtful as he weighed his options.

The most profitable solution was to retrieve Fenris himself, of course. He was already trained, used to the leash and even the tail he so liked to make him wear. He had a lithe, beautiful body and knew how to use his markings in more ways than one. Ah, he was so fond of his little wolf, and with the right amount of torture and blood magic, his memory would be as blank as before… but then he would have to begin his training anew.

On the other hand, Fenris had also shown that he had a rebellious mind. That spark in his eyes that made him so delectable was also a source of uncertainty. Who knew when his little wolf decided to try to escape again? It was costly to retrieve a slave.

The sudden silence made Danarius look up.

Fenris stood in the midst of a blood puddle, the bodies of his Fog Warrior friends strewn about him. He was panting heavily, his shoulders tense, and horror flickered over his face.

It was that flicker of horror that decided his fate.

Danarius held up his hand, seeing Fenris’ eyes widen in realization as the archers strung their bows. But it was already too late. Danarius turned away as Fenris’ body hit the ground. He could retrieve the lyrium from his corpse just as well. And then train a more malleable little slave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic Descriptions of Violence, Major Character Death, Sexual Abuse Mention


	4. “I know you didn’t ask for this."

There were eyes on her. 

Always.

Wherever she went, whatever she did… someone was watching every second of every day. 

It wasn’t a completely new thing for Aren. Growing up in the Circle had gotten her used to never truly being alone from early on. It had never even felt like much of a burden to her. It just was the way it was. The mages studied and learned, the templars watched. 

But lately, the looks had changed. Where they had once felt natural and just part of the order of things, now, they were more piercing, more obvious. Having gotten used to it did nothing for Aren anymore as it became harder to ignore the looks day by day.

She knew why, of course. Jowan and her involvement with his escape. Just as she knew that she could have gotten away from it all if she had accepted the Grey Warden’s offer. But the tower was her home, and she had not wanted to leave. She still didn’t want to leave if she was honest. She just wanted the former peace and quiet back. But given how the last few weeks had gone that did not seem to be an option anymore. 

Part of Aren was furious. It wasn’t fair. She had done everything right, after all. Reported what Jowan had planned immediately, did everything the First Enchanter asked her to and still… Despite her assurances, despite never having even one singular failing about her, it had cast suspicion on her. Had led to every templar watching her like a hawk these days. Waiting for her to show the slightest bit of weakness or duplicity. And she couldn’t even argue about the unfairness of it all with them taking anything she said that wasn’t ‘Yes, of course, Knight-Commander’ as an admission of guilt.

Frustrated, she pushed the pen away, giving up on trying to concentrate on the book she was studying. 

“Feeling the pressure?” came a voice from next to her table, and Aren’s eyes widened slightly in surprise as she looked up and saw who was standing there.

“Senior Enchanter,” she greeted politely before picking her pen back up. He didn’t look unfriendly or upset at all, his face missing the usual scowl she was used to seeing him with, as he looked down at her with something akin to sympathy in his eyes.

“It is grating, isn’t it?” he said lowly, his voice quiet enough to assure that it was for her ears only.

Aren blinked in confusion. “Pardon me?”

It only caused a smile to appear on his face. She wasn’t sure she had ever seen him smile before.

“Doing everything right, behaving perfectly and dancing to their every whim, only to realize that it is still worth nothing in their eyes,” he said, the look in his eyes full of understanding. It was only then that Aren noticed that none of her mentors, none of her peers had offered their thoughts on the matter to her. 

“I know you didn’t ask for this, for any of this, but I’d like to invite you to a get-together at the end of the week,” he continued before Aren could say anything. “You might find we have more in common than you previously thought.” 

With another smile and a friendly nod, he turned around and left the library. For a good while, Aren could do nothing but stare after him. He had a certain reputation, after all. One that had always made it clear to her to stay away from him and his followers. For good reason. Or so she thought. But that was… before. Before she had learned that doing everything right didn’t mean anything after all. Aren nodded to herself. She would go to that meeting at the end of the weak and try to keep an open mind. Perhaps her way of trying to fit in had been wrong. Perhaps it was time to explore new paths. Perhaps… she would listen to what Uldred had to say.


	5. “I might just kiss you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check end notes for Chapter Warnings

“Shianni, no!”

Fian had barely made a step forward when another human came up behind her. He struck true, and a sharp pain flashed through her, then everything went black.

A red, throbbing pain was the first thing she noticed when she came to. Something sticky was on the side of her face, and she groaned and reached up to touch her cheek. Her fingers came back bloody, and she drew in a sharp breath.

Someone snickered, and all of a sudden, everything inside her tensed. She looked up, blinking as her head protested with another stab of pain against the movement, and found someone watching her. She froze as she recognized the human noble from earlier. Vaughan.

_Earlier? How long ago had it been?_

His smirk widened, and she clenched her teeth, glaring at him, not willing to let him see just how frightened she was.

Fian turned her head carefully as she sat up, but there was nobody but her and the man in the room, and there was no window.

“You know, I wasn’t sure which one of you should get the honor of being our first guest,” Vaughan said, not taking his eyes off her. “I mean, the little redhead was the actual bitch who attacked me, so at first I thought she’ll do just nicely, but then it came to me.” His grin turned nasty as he let his eyes wander over her body, and all of a sudden, Fian felt cold. “It was your wedding, wasn’t it?”

Vaughan stood up and walked over to her, and even though the room lurched heavily as she moved, Fian quickly scrambled to get up, using the wall behind her to push herself up. She would not cower before him. The human just grinned.

“And as a bride, you deserve a wedding night,” he growled, grabbing her chin in a tight, painful grip.

“No!” Fian gasped, freeing herself with a quick tug of her head, shoving at him, but he was a good two heads taller than her and barely had to take a step back. Her hands itched for a blade, any blade, but there was not even a table knife in the room. A dark horror took ahold of her as the human grabbed her again.

“My, you’re feisty,” he grinned. “I like feisty women. I might just kiss you.”

Just at that moment, the door opened, and several other men came in, laughing and drinking. Vaughan’s grin widened.

“Vaughan, you won’t believe what happened,” one of the men exclaimed, laughter in his voice. “Two knife-ears came, trying to rescue their bitches! Had a blade and everything!”

Fian’s eyes widened. Soris and Nelaros, she was sure of it! Oh no, what had they done?

“Is that so?” the noble said. “Where are they now?”

Another shrugged. “Guards cut them down, of course. I fear the redhead didn’t make it either, but well, there’s three others. Nothing and nobody’s gonna disturb us now.”

Her breath came in frightened, short bursts, her body tense and ready to fight, even as her mind tried to catch up with what was happening. Widowed before she was married. Her cousins... dead. She wanted to cry, to scream, but all she could think was _No no no no no, please_!!

Vaughan turned back to her, his tongue flickering out to wet his lips.

_Maker protect me,_ she pleaded, desperate, but the Maker was silent.

The human smiled, darkness in his eyes. “The party is about to begin, little bride.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allusions to rape (city elf origin), minor character death, allusions to sexual abuse


	6. “Yes, I’m aware. Your point?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check end notes for Chapter Warnings

“Are you sure, Hawke?” Corff’s voice had an unusual touch of worry to it, but Adriene just frowned at him.

“Yyeahhh, ‘m sure,” she slurred, then she cleared her throat and tried again, slapping her hand on the bar, next to her empty tankard. “I’m sure. Relax, Co— Corff.”

The bartender gave her a long, sharp look. “Listen, Hawke, you know I’m not in the habit of stopping people from drinking here, but you’ve passed out in the corner every night for the last three days.”

Adriene’s thoughts were already wandering somewhere else, but at his look, she blinked a few times to try and focus back on him. “Yeah. I’m aware. Your point?” she asked, giving him a stern look. Or tried to, which was a bit difficult with the way the floor kept tilting. Again, she cleared her throat. “It’s not like I… like I’m the only… one who prefererres to closer… close her eyes for a moment. Sometimes.”

She took a deep breath, then another before she focused back on Corff. The man just raised his eyebrows at her half-understandable gibberish, and Adriene groaned. “Fine!” She pushed herself off the bar and stumbled a few steps backwards, bumping against a table before she found herself upright again. She really had hoped to just have blacked out again by now, but the blighted bartender probably mixed water into his blighted beer, or maybe she was just slower to drink than normal. Drinking in company was always more fun, but with Cass and Carver and Varric and Anders lost in the Deep Roads, and Fenris and Isabela sleeping together, and Sebastian and Bethany somewhere romantic or worse, in the Chantry, and Aveline not drinking, and Merrill obsessing over her mirror, she spent most of her nights alone. She could, of course, go home now. Probably _should_ go home now. But there, her mother was waiting, and she’d give her a mouthful. ‘I’m not too old to give you a slap, Adriene Hawke, if you don’t pull yourself together!’ she had said the last time.

She really didn’t need that tonight.

“Fine,” she repeated, making a decision, pulling a face as she stumbled towards the door. “I can take my money to the Red Sails. The beer’s better anyway.”

“Hawke…” Corff said exasperatedly, but she just waved him off and staggered out of the Hanged Man and into Lowtown.

She managed to avoid falling into the harbor by just a tiny step taking her away from the black waters, but the laugh bubbling up at her at the near miss turned into a long-drawn gasp just a moment later as a sharp, red pain shot through her side. Adriene blinked confused at the rugged, sharp-angled face grinning down on her.

“Should’ve gone home, sweet thing,” the man said as he twisted the knife in her side once. The pain intensified, but for some reason, Adriene found herself unable to scream. Was it the alcohol? Or the heaviness pressing down on her lungs, making her unable to draw breath? A part of her brain wanted her to reach for her knives, but her arms were too heavy to lift. Already, it got harder to see. 

“Got the purse, boss,” someone said, and then the knife was pulled out, and she heard something splatter onto the dirty pavement. There was a shove, probably, or maybe she tried to adjust her stance, but for a moment, she felt incredibly light, falling, then the waves caught her, washing all the air away.

Bela had always said that the sea was like a lover, the water soft and cruel, but tender when it took you.

_She lied_, Adriene thought as her limbs struggled in vain towards the surface, a warm streak of blood touching her cheek amidst the freezing seawater. There was nothing soft or tender about it. It was just… black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major Character Death, alcohol, violence


	7. “No! And that is final.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check end notes for Chapter Warnings

Aren’s mind was anywhere but here as she closed the door to Morrigan’s room behind her, slowly making her way back to her own. Her thoughts were trapped way back, weeks ago, like her mind couldn't stop lingering in the Temple of Sacred Ashes. How enthusiastic they had entered it, and how utterly shaken she had left.

The cult members had made such a good point. The power they had offered… Power the likes of which they could certainly use in their grim-looking quest to stop an Archdemon. 

She had lost two friends that day.

In case of Leliana, it felt like even more than that. The other woman had made her interest clear enough, and Aren would have been lying if she said she hadn't been intrigued. But the things that Wynne had told her had made too much sense. Things like ‘you need to focus on your task’ and ‘you can’t afford distractions’. Aren had known the words to be true in her heart as she heard them. Had distanced herself from the bard and ignored the slight twist in her stomach as she did her best to not get any closer to the woman who bore the promise of feeling like home within her embrace.

‘Perhaps later, after the Archdemon…’ Aren had told herself. A hope that came to a shattering end that day as they stood in front of a deceptively simple-looking urn that promised both healing and the strength to actually stand a chance in this fight for all of Thedas. Two wardens against an entire Blight… It had felt like a lost cause from the beginning, but the strength the priest had promised to reveal to her might just turn the tide. 

Aren remembered almost begging Leliana to see her point. To see her side and the benefits of what she had planned. But it had been of no use.

“No! And that is final,” had been Leliana’s words. 

Aren had never objected to fighting. It wasn’t her preferred method of dealing with things, but ultimately she never minded. Fighting, killing even… as long as the end justified the means, it didn’t give her any pause. 

That day in the temple did, though. Never before had she fought and killed a friend, after all.

“Was it worth killing over?” Wynne had asked bitterly while packing up her belongings back at camp, and Aren had been unable to do anything but shrug. Had it? Who could say. 

“One life for the chance to save the world…” The words had left Aren’s lips almost thoughtlessly, and the look Wynne gave her could have frozen over the oceans.

“Easy to say when it’s not your life you are bargaining with.” 

Aren had shrugged again, fully knowing that there hadn’t been any answer she could have given Wynne that would have made her stay.

She still didn’t know. Not when going to bed after having spent hours with Morrigan about her proposal, not when waking up the next day and not when she saw the Archdemon fly above them. 

Next to her, Alistair looked grimly at the Dragon circling from above. 

“You know that if Riordan’s attempt fails, I am going to do it!” he proclaimed, refusing to look at her, eyes focused on their goal. “You need to rebuild the Wardens, I am the expendable one.”

They had had that talk before, directly after they had found out the truth, and Aren shook her head again, just as she had back then. 

“You are not expendable, not more than I at least,” she said slowly, but she could see on his face that her words didn’t reach him. Maybe she needed different words. Or maybe something else entirely. 

When the time came, Aren was more than ready. She still couldn't say if the extra power she had gotten that day had been worth it. If it had tipped the scale in her favor or if it had not been necessary after all. But it didn’t matter anymore. 

“You know what?” she asked Alistair with a sad smile. “Wynne was wrong after all.” 

“What are you talking about?" He gave her a confused look, clutching his shield firmly in front of him as they both eyed the almost dead Dragon in front of them.

“It is much easier if the life you bargain with is your own,” came her calm reply before Aren twirled her staff around, sweeping his legs out from under him. As soon as she saw him fall, she started to run. One step after the other, grabbing the abandoned sword on her way. 

She had thought a lot about this. About taking risks. Playing with magic she didn’t understand and the promise of power. Morrigan’s offer had been tempting. Just as the offer at the temple had been. But Aren had been all too willing to ignore the consequences once before already. Had been blinded by the offer of a magical solution that would potentially fix everything, and she had paid in blood. Blood and a life that hadn’t been hers to give.

This time would be different. Morrigan had offered her help, had almost been pleading with Aren to take it, but all Aren had seen was Leliana’s face in front of her, steadfast and resolute. 

“No! And that is final.”

Her answer had come out full of conviction. And as she buried the sword in the Dragon and something around her started to tear her apart, Aren closed her eyes and thought of red hair and of home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major Character Death


	8. “Can you stay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check end notes for Chapter Warnings

“Can you stay?” 

It was dark around Cassia. Anders’ voice sounded hoarse, like the dust of the bones around them had already settled into his throat.

“Of course I’ll stay!” Cassia said without even the smallest pause for hesitation. It wasn’t like she had any other option. They were trapped and alone, after all. But that wasn’t what spurred her response. She would stay even if one of the ancient walls around them spontaneously grew a door into freedom. She would stay. Would not leave him. Could not leave him. Not like this.

Only two days ago, they had pushed forward valiantly, her own despair quelled by his offer of companionship. Spirits high with renewed resolve to find a way out of their predicament. 

To find a way out of the Deep Roads.

Until the darkspawn happened. _‘We should have taken the other path,’ _had gone through Cassia’s head when, coming out of nowhere, they had felled her brother with what looked like a single blow. They never even saw it coming. They had fought their hardest but the sheer volume of darkspawn meant they were no match for the small horde. When Varric fell, Cassia’s shock had turned into blind panic. She had grabbed the by then greatly injured Anders and dragged him through a crack in the wall. There had been no solid ground behind it, and the steep fall had knocked both of them out for a while.

When she had come back to her senses, she could still hear the faint noises of the darkspawn from above, but no one had followed them. 

At first, Cassia had thought it luck. After a day in complete darkness, figuring out that there were only walls around them and nothing else, Cassia knew it hadn’t been luck after all. 

Now she was sitting on the dusty floor, Anders’ head in her lap as she drew soothing circles onto his skin, gently letting her fingers run through his hair. Even with her limited skills, she could see that even the best healers out there would have trouble fixing him again. And Cassia was no healer. She didn’t know how to knit bones together, to stop blood from flowing and stop life from dwindling through her hands.

All she could do was stay. Be there. Hold him as he coughed.

Something wet splattered onto her hands. She didn’t need to light up the darkness to know that it was blood.

“I’ll stay,” she muttered again. “I promise, I won’t leave you alone.”

“A year,” he said, wheezing. “I spent a year in solitary confinement. Imagined dying there alone…”

“You’re not alone,” Cassia assured him, her hand reaching out, patting gently over his body until she could find his hand. She held it tightly, drawing it towards her. “I will not leave, you hear me? You won’t be alone! Neither of us will.”

There was an ugly, gurgling sound when Anders breathed, and Cassia knew that it wouldn’t be long now. 

“Thank you!” he breathed out with a voice that sounded as if each syllable was sticking painful needles into him. The sound of blood filling his lungs grew more prominent, like the sloshing of water against the pier in the Kirkwall harbor. He went rigid in her arms, just for a moment, as if his body refused to simply accept its fate. One last act of defiance before the sounds stopped.

His breathing stopped. 

It was dark around Cassia. 

Dark and quiet. 

So quiet that she could hear her own tears fall. 

“Can’t you stay please?” she whispered quietly. But there was no answer. Not even an echo. Just more silence.

Her head leaned back against the stone, her hand continuing to pet his hair as she took a deep breath. There was no way out. No one left alive who could even begin to narrow down where to look for her. She was out of water, out of food, and now? Out of hope.

Getting up and continue searching for a way was pointless. 

And so Cassia stayed right where she was, not letting go of Anders’ hand, not even after it started to grow cold and stiff. She held on tight, patting his hair until she could no longer hold herself upright. She had promised him that she would stay. And that he wouldn’t be alone. 

It took another day until she fulfilled that last promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major Character Death


	9. "There is a certain taste to it..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See End Notes for Chapter Warnings

“Look who’s here in my realm again…” The deep, incorporeal voice came from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. “And this time without me dragging you here...”

Was there a hint of surprise in the demon’s voice? Cassia couldn’t quite say. It was always difficult to discern what those creatures actually wanted, actually meant, when they were talking. Even more so with this particular fear demon that chose to remain invisible most of the time. She knew it was her old acquaintance for sure, though. Too many years the demon had spent haunting her dreams. Ever since that fateful night out in the woods and her failed attempt of getting rid of her magic, he had shown up again and again. 

She had thought she killed the demon, had been certain of it even, but the ongoing encounters in her dreams told another story.

“I am here for a reason,” she spoke clearly into the impenetrable darkness in front of her. The Fade always became a black, impenetrable fog around her whenever she was in his domain. It had frightened her for the longest time. Now? It barely even registered.

“I’m afraid I can’t think of a reason why,” the demon’s voice came from somewhere at her side. She felt a tingling sensation on her skin. Like someone was touching her, but at the same time, it felt nothing like an actual touch. 

“Something is different,” the demon hummed. “I fear you have become rather useless to me.”

“Have I now?” Cassia asked into the darkness. “You’ve spent years terrorizing me, I assumed you would be overjoyed by my visit.”

The eerie, touch-like sensation wandered up her arms and over her shoulders as the now disappointed-sounding voice spoke again.

“I wanted you to give into to your fear, to lose yourself in it,” it said, regret shining through. “Instead, you simply stopped being afraid.” 

The sensation slid up her neck, around her head as if two invisible hands were holding her face in between them.

“You are not afraid of anything anymore!” There was a hint of curiosity in the voice. “Tell me, how did this happen?”

Cassia didn’t want to remember, didn’t want to spend too many thoughts on this. She shrugged despite the darkness, certain that the demon would notice anyway.

“My father used to say that you never know what it takes to make a person drop everything they believe in to blindly embrace anger and hate,” she said, her voice steadier than she would have thought possible. “I guess I figured out just how much it takes for me.”

She refused to let her mind dwell too much on what had brought her here. Cassia had made too many efforts to try and not think about what had happened. About the Wounded Coast. The blood mage Grace taking her sister hostage. Cassia not reacting fast enough, arriving just that little moment too late to save her.

But no matter how fast she tried to quell down the still fresh memories, the demon saw them all. This was his domain after all. The hold around her grew stronger, engulfing her until she was unable to move, but still, she couldn’t find it in her to be afraid. Not of the darkness, not of the demon controlling it and not of the incorporeal embrace that held her. An almost grotesque mockery of intimacy.

“The blood mage who had it in for you killed your sister…” the demon mused. “You must have been terrified for her as you rushed to save her…”

Cassia’s answer was simple. “I was.” 

“Hmm, but not anymore… I wish I had been there.” The demon sounded wistful, his hold on her tightening, moving over her skin as if he was looking for something in her memories. She could feel his elation as he found it.

“Oh, you got your revenge,” he mused as he watched what had happened afterwards through her eyes. “You killed them all.” There was a sliver of anticipation in his voice. “Did you see the fear in their eyes before you snuffed them out?”

The vivid memory of terrified eyes in front of her stirred the first strong emotions in Cassia since she had come here. She knew the demon could feel everything she had done. The sensation on her skin changed as she felt his not-quite-touch rippling over her in clear excitement.

“You did!” He sounded more than satisfied with what he saw in her head. “That’s why you are here… You’ve come because you started to see my side of things…”

Something in Cassia relaxed at his obvious enjoyment of the situation. He would not send her away. She would get what she came here for, after all.

“There is a certain taste to it,” she admitted. 

The phantom hand still holding her face shifted, caressing her cheek as the demon’s voice suddenly came from behind her, right next to her ear. 

“You want my help,” he stated softly, and Cassia nodded as much as his hold allowed.

“I could use some more power for what I need to do,” she said plainly before trying to turn around. To her surprise, the hold on her weakened and let her. There was still complete darkness around them, but something right in front of her felt strangely… solid compared to the rest.

“You thrive on fear, and it seems like I am very good at causing it,” she said firmly. “We might find a mutually benefitting arrangement here…”

The deep, slightly gravelly chuckle came from right in front of her. For a brief second, Cassia felt a hint of air on her face. Whatever was in the darkness, it was incredibly close now.

“Now, just where did the righteous young woman that told me off over and over again go?” 

Cassia scoffed. “She died on the Wounded Coast, together with my sister.” 

At first, she had thought that shutting herself off would just be temporary, would help her deal with what had happened. Until she had realized that there was nothing left for her. That a world without Adriene in it made no sense anymore. Would never feel right again. 

“Listen,” she pulled herself away from the grief that was almost boiling beneath the surface of her indifference. “I’m the Champion of Kirkwall. The only one now, and there is a whole city that has a problem with blood magic. I intend to solve that problem.” She took a deep breath. “With your help, it would be almost ridiculously easy. You give me more power and I, in return, promise you more fear than you’ve probably ever had before.” 

“Just like that?” the voice asked, still sounding amused, but Cassia nodded resolutely.

“I’ve been afraid my entire life. Of magic, of people, demons… Of you!” Until someone had taken everything from her. First her mother, then her sister… A small part of Cassia knew that they had taken even more. That the reason she wasn’t afraid anymore was that when Adriene had stopped breathing, she had taken Cassia’s feeling of belonging somewhere with her. Her humanity had died right there, while she still held her sister’s cooling body in her arms.

“I want them all to feel what I felt,” she finally said. “And I know you want the same thing. So… do we have a deal?”

For a moment, it was eerily quiet. Her own breath was the only sound reaching her ears before something around her shifted, pulling her closer towards the voice. Her hands instinctively grasped for purchase, and this time, they found something. Something solid right in front of her. It seemed, her demon had a solid form after all. 

Cassia felt her head being tilted upwards and the feeling of warm air hitting her face returned.

“Deal.” 

His voice was both booming all around her and simultaneously sounding like a whispered promise before she was moved again, and felt the pressure of something that wasn’t quite right, a facsimile of lips, covering her own. She had seen vague shapes of the demon before, and Cassia was well aware that once upon a time, she would have been disgusted by the mere thought of what was happening. Now, all she felt was satisfaction at getting one step closer to her goal. With his help, she would find every single blood mage in this damned city, and she would make sure that every one of them would be as horrified as she had been when she had found her sister. And who knew what they could achieve together after they were done with Kirkwall.

She clutched at his solid form before her as she let go, slowly letting her own senses get overwhelmed by his essence and the promise of power that came with it. Together, they would be almost invincible. As he held her closer and Cassia started to lose track of where she ended and the demon began, she couldn't help but smile as she saw a potential future unfolding in front of her eyes. Together, they would build an empire of fear. Become greater than their sum. The world would hide and tremble in fear before what they would become. 

More than simple fear. 

A nightmare. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mentioned character death


	10. "Listen, I can't explain, you have to trust me!'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check End Notes for chapter warnings.

The horde was somewhere behind them, and Carver had long stopped struggling against Adriene’s grip as she pulled him away from the battlefield, screaming at him the whole time. The frenzy of the battle had abandoned him, replaced by tiredness and fear, by swallowed tears and uncertainty.

Adriene kept talking to him the moment he slowed down.

“Come on, Carver, you can do it,” she said, gripping his elbow as she dragged him further. “We’ve made it through the battle, we’re gonna make it home, alright?”

But Carver was tired, so tired, and now that the screams of the dying and the hiss and wet growls of the darkspawn were behind them, all he wanted was Bethany, was his twin, and to lie down and sleep, and maybe cry. This had not been what he had thought it would be.

He had thought it would be glorious. That he would come home a hero, a _man_, that Adriene would finally see that he could hold his own and stop treating him like a _kid_. And up until the battle, it had been… if not glorious, it had at least been good. People judged him by his skill with the blade — and he _had_ skill — and nobody asked about his sisters who preferred to stay home. And Adriene had been more relaxed, too, at least in the beginning.

“That’s my little brother,” she had said, and it had been with pride, not with condescendence. It had made him proud, too. That was before she had started to hide the bruises, before her smile had turned fake and vanished the second she thought nobody looked. And Carver had felt helpless, unsure of what to do, and terribly alone without Bethy to talk to.

He stumbled over a root that stuck out from the mud, muttering a curse. No, this was not how he had imagined it to be. Being away from home was supposed to be easy, with him being finally able to show his worth!

All he had wanted was to finally be recognized as an adult, so why did he now only want to be tucked in and not have to take care of another dying brother-in-arms whose blood looked more grey than red, not to take note of how the horde moved and tried to flank them, not to charge at another Hurlock, _Maker_, that perpetual, lipless grin haunted him in his sleep.

Carver bit the inside of his cheek and blinked to clear his view of the sudden blurriness.

Maybe that was the reason he didn’t see Adriene stopping until he bumped into her back. “Andraste’s tits, what’s—“

The words got stuck in his throat as he saw who blocked their path.

“Now, now,” Tellon said. A streak of dried blood was covering nearly half of his face, his blond hair plastered against his skull, but his stance was wide and steady as his hand tightened around the hilt of his blade. “You know, Adriene, I thought we were a _couple_.” The word was accompanied by a spit to the ground before Tellon narrowed his eyes at Adriene again.

Carver’s hand was already at his sword, but Adriene had an arm outstretched, holding him back. Her face was ashen, and Carver thought he saw her lips quiver, but then she pressed them tightly together as she moved nearly imperceptibly, easing softly into an attack stance.

“Guess how surprised I was,” Tellon continued, seemingly oblivious to the subtle changes in Adriene’s posture, “when I yelled for you as the blighted ogre had me pinned, and all you did, _bitch_—” He raised his sword to point it at Adriene who immediately drew her knives, “—was to turn around and run, and leave me to my fate.”

“I’m sorry,” Adriene said tonelessly. “I know I should have stayed to make sure it actually kills you.”

Carver looked from one to the other, trying to catch up with what was happening. The two of them had started to sleep together not long after they had joined the army, and for the longest time, it had all been… great. Not that he had given them much attention, he had his own adventures with a few of his fellow soldiers, after all. But now, as he looked from the open, brutal rage on Tellon’s face to the pale determination in Adriene’s, he started to wish he had paid closer attention. All of a sudden, one and one came together. Adriene’s dwindling laugh and smile, the bruises, the hiding.

A red fury rose in Carver and he gripped his sword.

But Adriene immediately snapped, “No!”

“But…” Carver started, only to be interrupted again. For a second, her eyes flickered to him, a desperate plea in them.

“You need to go, Carver,” Adriene said, nearly softly. “The horde is not so far behind that we can afford the delay. Get home and get them out of Lothering, please, Carver. I’ll come and join you once Tellon and I have… talked.”

“Talked?!” Carver repeated incredulously, but Adriene was already focused on Tellon again.

“Listen, I can’t explain it, you’ll have to trust me,” she pleaded.

Carver hesitated, looking back to Tellon who seemed ready to attack any second. But then he saw it, the way Tellon’s sword had shifted, just slightly. Now, it was no longer pointing at Adriene, it was pointing at him. A bitter realization rose in him. Of course. As long as Adriene had to protect him, she could not fight freely.

Slowly, he took a step back, back towards where a faraway, chilling screech could be heard. The horde, slowly catching up.

“Alright, Ria,” he said, all the tiredness falling off him. “Make sure you’re back before we leave, alright?”

He could hear her smile more than he saw it. “Of course I will. Don’t you worry about me,” she said lightly, then she swirled her knives and charged towards Tellon. Carver turned and ran, the sounds of their fight only slowly losing themselves in the Korcari wilderness.

Much later, as the waves sloshed against the ship that bore them to Kirkwall, Carver couldn’t stop wondering where they had lost her. Had she even made it to Lothering? Or had she made it further? Had she found Bethany’s body, crushed by the ogre, and the tracks of her family disappearing without a trace? Was that where she had stopped running, cradling Bethany until the end?

“Forgive me,” he muttered, pressing the heel of his hands against his burning eyes, the sword on his back a heavy reminder of his duty as protector of Cassia and Mother. He had finally gotten his wish, they fully relied on him now.

Never had he thought that it would weigh so heavily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon character death


	11. "It's not always like this."

_“High in the sky, the stars shine bright  
Count them all, take in their light…”_

The melody that came from the ballroom had no lyrics to go with it, but Amara heard them in her head anyway. The sounds of the orchestra playing the melancholic piece were muffled through the walls and heavy doors, but just enough of the tune carried through to briefly make her think of home. How long had it been since she had last heard that melody? It felt like an eternity, and yet, it wasn’t nearly long enough.

She took a deep breath, trying to listen to what her advisors had to say. Halamshiral had been a trying affair so far. A ball, a masquerade, and the promise of peace talks and political favor had sounded exhausting before she had even set foot into the palace already, but nothing could have prepared her for the harrowing reality of it. The reality of sneaking around in the shadows to dig up some dirt on their hosts. Of smiling through scathing looks and muffled whispers behind her back. Of all the lies floating around her, filling the ballroom to the brim, suffocating every last bit of honesty or decency underneath them.

It was everything Amara had tried so hard to leave behind. Every corner that held whispering figures, every calculating look sent her way reminded her of what she had once been and how much she had lost in her desperate tries to claw herself out of this world. She hadn’t been around anything like this for almost ten years, and still, the moment she had arrived, there had been a certain familiarity about it all. She hated every single moment of it. Hated how easily she could read the lies, see the games being played. Hated every second that felt like she had never left.

She should have asked Bull or Sera to accompany her, Amara thought while still trying to follow what was being said. They would have pulled her out of this mood in no time. Distracted her, given her something that felt more real than all of this to hang on to. But she had listened to her advisor’s suggestions on whom to take with her, and now, it was definitely too late for any regrets. She would just have to force herself through this on her own.

“Perhaps we should let Celene die…”

She was torn out of her wandering thoughts when Leliana quietly spoke up, suggesting the unthinkable. At least it had been unthinkable so far to Amara. It sounded almost casual as if she was talking about what cake to pick for dessert. And while everyone was quietly arguing, Leliana’s eyes found her own.

With that one look, the question about just how much her spymaster might know about who Amara had been before the Inquisition, before the Dalish, was answered. She felt herself going tense as panic welled up in her. No one was supposed to know. Leliana seemed to notice something, too.

“Inquisitor, a word in private, please?” she asked quietly, and Amara only nodded as she followed her almost mechanically out of the room. She could feel the telltale signs of a panic attack welling up inside her as they came to a halt and Leliana turned around. She said something. About opportunities. Something about needing a strong ally, and how Celine obviously wasn’t one. All Amara could do was listen and nod along to what her spymaster was telling her while she tried to keep her breathing under control. This wasn’t what they were supposed to do. They were supposed to be better than this. More honest. Something that people could truly believe in.

Not for the first time that night, Amara wished someone else was with her. If only Bull were here now. He would have given her something to hold on to. Something solid that she could grasp, that would have let her stand her ground and say no. But she was alone and they were running out of time, and a short while later, to her own horror, Amara found herself nodding in agreement.

Not half an hour later, the Empress of Orlais lay dead on the ballroom floor.

“It isn’t always like this,” Leliana said later, joining her outside on the balcony after everything had settled down.

Amara shook her head. “Killing people, or letting them be killed, for personal gain you mean?” she asked, her voice sounding unusually detached by now. “Because in my experience, it is always exactly like this. And it never really changes.”

Leliana shook her head. “I meant the Inquisition.” She sighed. “Most of the things we are doing, that we are going to do, will be good things! Something like this might hopefully not be necessary again.”

Amara narrowed her eyes at the other women, scoffing. There was no way she could actually believe that, and as she looked closer at her spymaster, she could see on her face that Leliana didn’t truly believe it either.

“You know,” Amara mused, “you can lie to everyone and even yourself about this, but have the decency to be honest with me at least. If you are going to be using me as a tool for your machinations, you could at least offer me that small courtesy.”

Her voice sounded more scathing than she had intended, and Leliana took a step back. “You are right,” she admitted. “But I know about your past. I know you understand how this works. What things might be necessary.”

Amara didn’t answer. Not immediately. Leliana might know all about her past, but she had obviously no idea about Amara herself. About how hard she had worked to leave that kind of thinking behind her. To become a better person. But when she looked into the other woman’s eyes, Amara realized that she might just be wrong about that.

Leliana’s knowing eyes showed her a truth that Amara would give anything to unsee. She swallowed, her throat feeling unusually dry all of a sudden. It had been surprisingly easy to stand back and do nothing, once the actual decision had been made. Just as it had been easy to cut down the assassin without remorse after the deed was done. Better to make sure they couldn’t put their own spin to the story the Inquisition wanted to tell. The knife in her hand had been almost a comfort. Something familiar. And for the first time in ten years, Amara wondered if trying to leave everything behind had actually been worth it. She had been rather good at this once, after all. One of the best. There had even been a time where she had enjoyed the violence that had come with it. The killing.

As she looked down at her hands, she could still see a smear of blood on them. It didn’t feel wrong. Didn’t feel disgusting. Instead, it was… familiar. Amara started to relax as she looked around. The uneasy feeling that had been with her almost the entire time since they had arrived in Orlais was gone. Perhaps the anguish of the past decade would fade away as well if she embraced the person that she truly was instead of constantly struggling to become someone she was clearly not meant to be. Maybe the Inquisition didn’t need someone trying to be good, but rather someone who could do what was necessary. Maybe… maybe trying to start a new life, becoming a new and better person had only ever been a dream. An unreachable, impractical fantasy.

Something in Amara’s eyes dimmed as a part of her grew cold, letting herself be soothed by old patterns and comforting thoughts.

“You are right,” she told Leliana. “Some things are necessary. I trust that when the time comes you will point me towards them?”

The smile on Leliana’s face didn’t reach her eyes as she nodded, but Amara didn’t really care. Once she would have asked, would have tried to make both of them feel better. But not anymore. If the Inquisition needed her to be a weapon, then she would be a weapon. She had been sharp and deadly before, she could be that again.

When Leliana left her alone, she leaned over the balcony, looking into the dark garden beneath her. As Amara took out a piece of cloth and slowly started to rub the dried blood off her knives, the music from earlier that night was in her ear again. Quietly, she sang along to the sounds only she could hear as the blades got cleaner by the moment.

_“High in the sky, the stars shine bright_  
_Count them all, take in their light…_  
_They shine tonight for you alone_  
_The brightest star will guide you home…”_


	12. "What if I don't see it?"

Lyssa stared into the storm, red, hot pain throbbing through her arm and ribs. Snowflakes whipped into her face, tiny cuts of ice that burned in her skin.

How long had she been out here already? After she had tumbled deep into the mines beneath Haven, she had been unconscious for hours while the trek with the refugees had gone up into the mountains. But she had made it out of the mines, and into the storm.

A deep breath of ice-cold air made her cough, and Lyssa pressed an arm over her mouth and nose, tears hot on her cheek.

_Mythal, protect me,_ she thought desperately, _please. Please._

She had thought that the storm would surely end, that she might find something to show her the way of where the trek had gone… but there had been nothing. Once, she had thought she’d discerned a left-over campsite in a little distance, but then there had been another gust of wind and snow, and she had decided to rather stick to the rocks that provided at least a little bit of protection against the storm instead of hunting ghosts.

Another few hours later, she had found herself in a dead end between the mountainous walls and had to turn back. She had thought to maybe find the point again where she had thought she’d seen the campsite, but once she had left the rocky mountainside, she had lost all orientation as the wind picked up, and the campsite had been lost for good.

Lyssa forced herself to take another heavy step, sinking nearly knee-deep into the snow. She had stopped feeling her toes hours ago, but she refused to stop now. Not yet. Another step.

If only she weren’t so tired, so very, very tired.

But if she made it until dawn, she could maybe make it even further. Just until dawn. ‘What if I don’t see it?’ shot through her mind, but she dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come. She would see it. She had to.

Lyssa pressed her broken arm closer to her side and took another step. A shadow loomed somewhere before her, and she hoped for a little protection from the wind. Maybe she could rest for a moment. Just a moment.

_Vhenan._

The voice came like a whisper, borne by the wind. 

It was a little overhanging of rocks. Even here, the wind howled angrily, but as she came closer, she saw a small protected space to where the snow didn’t reach. Her breath came in short, painful bursts as she crawled beneath and lay down on her side. Slow tears ran over her cheeks, dropping down her nose as she drew her legs close to her body, curling in on herself. She needed to rest, so badly. Just for a moment.

_Vhenan…_

Just a moment. 

Just… a… moment.

Just… 

There was a touch on her cheek, warm and familiar.

“Vhenan.”

Lyssa forced her eyes open again, seeing her breath cloud in the icy air. She was not surprised to see him.

“Ma’lath,” she whispered as she saw Nelos lying next to her, one arm curled under his head, the other reaching out to touch her. Her heart clenched painfully and more tears fell. Oh, how she had missed being touched like that. How she had missed _him_. “Ma’lath… have you come to bring me home?”

His smile was warm and sad, chasing something of the cold away that held her in its grip and made it hard to move. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. Lyssa bit back a sob. She had so hoped to make it.

“Nelos, I…” she started, but his thumb brushed over her lips and she stopped again.

“I know,” he said, the voice ghostly and far away, brought and carried away again by the dying storm. “And I am glad you fell in love again. You deserve love.”

Lyssa smiled among tears. She tried to reach for him, but she could no longer move. “I just wish I could have made it until dawn.”

_You did_, he whispered.

Behind him, she could see the light break through the storm clouds, a golden shimmer that quickly got brighter and brighter. Her eyes widened in delight as the light flooded the mountainside. Lyssa let out a breath, smiling as she closed her eyes against the shine and relaxed into coldness’ embrace. She did not breathe in again.


	13. “I never knew it could be this way”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check End Notes for Chapter Warnings

They had left her alone in a room that was to be her new home. It was small but functional. A bed, a wardrobe, a simple table, a single chair, and a small washing table almost completely filled the room. There was a window over the table, showing a view out into the countryside. 

Cassia had always loved the view. Now? She was indifferent. Something about the realization was odd — standing there and remembering having had an emotion that she couldn’t feel anymore. Now, the window was nothing more than a passing note. She was unsure of what to do with herself. Before this day, there had always been something on her mind. Something that had sparked her interest. There had been books and spells to learn from them. Playing with the younger children in the tower had always been something she enjoyed, but when they had escorted her into her new room, one of the children that used to play with her had taken one look at her and had run away, tears in his eyes. Cassia had found that odd, too. 

She knew that she would have comforted him once. That she would have seen his tears and have a reaction to them. But there was nothing in her now. Since she had woken up like this, her thoughts had been circling around this, trying to grasp this new reality she was in. Trying to make sense of it. She could clearly remember feeling _something_. But it felt like remembering how much she had liked her grandmother’s stew yet no longer remembering what it tasted like. It made sense and at the same time, it didn’t. 

“I never knew it could be this way,” she quietly mumbled to herself. She also remembered being afraid. Afraid of losing herself. Afraid of the templars. Of the darkness at night. Afraid of someone touching her but also afraid of saying no. She wasn’t afraid anymore. And the most peculiar thing was that she also remembered just how afraid she had been of exactly that.

She remembered being in pain, too. So much pain. Remembered her own screams, the smell of burning flesh as they branded her forehead. And then… the pain didn’t stop. But the screaming did. 

She had been terrified of not being herself anymore once they were through with her. Yet somehow, she was still here. Not entirely the same but still undeniably Cassia. Still remembering everything she said, felt or did.

What she couldn’t quite remember anymore was _why, _though. Why had she been afraid? She remembered being scared of one particular templar who patrolled their floor every night. Of his touch, of his words. Now, when he had escorted her back to this room, wishing her good-night with his usual smile, she hadn’t been afraid at all. His touch no longer scared her. Even the word _no_ didn’t seem scary or all that important anymore. Now that the fear was gone, she wouldn't need it anymore.

Over the washing table hung a small mirror, and Cassia looked at it with vague interest. She looked the same. Her hair was a bit unruly but otherwise, she was the same as always. With one new addition. Her eyes went to the angry-looking red marks on her forehead. The bursting sun on her face was new. 

The last thing she remembered before the pain had seared into her was a name. She had been screaming it at the top of her lungs. It made no sense to her now as she was sure it had made no sense then either. Her sister was far away and there had been no possibility of her hearing her, not to mention coming to her aid. Yet when they held her down, it was her name that had been on her lips. It must have been important to her. The most important thing in her life, in and outside of the Circle. She remembered that it had meant everything to her. Now, it was just a name.

_Adriene._

When she thought about that name, she saw her face move in the mirror. Her lip shook slightly and the corner of her mouth lifted a bit, without her even thinking about it. 

_Adriene._

It happened again. Like a faint echo of what had once been a smile. Another thing she remembered doing but didn’t have any idea about why she did. Smiling. Why did anyone smile? She had known it once but no more. But when she looked into the mirror, she thought, perhaps people smiled because of Adriene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allusions to rape and torture


	14. "I can't come back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check End Notes for Chapter Warnings

“Dear Carver,

By now you have heard the news, I am sure. I hope this letter reaches you, I’ll give it to Anders. If anyone, he will find a way to bring it out of Kirkwall. Even if most of our smugglers have seized to do business, even if there is no way to smuggle people out again, maybe a letter will still make its way.

I can’t come back. I’m sorry. I know I should’ve stayed in Amaranthine with you when you asked me to, but… I thought we still had time. Who knew that the Arishok would escalate so quickly? It seemed to have been a split-second decision. I know Cassia and Adriene wanted to talk to him, but the Qunari didn’t even wait for that talk.

Their attack caught the Keep by surprise, and they caught the Knight-Commander together with the Viscount and executed them both on the spot. After that, they swarmed down over Hightown. Those of the nobility who did not immediately swear to convert were killed. The Chantry is gone… I don’t know what happened to Sebastian. 

Carver, it was so bad.

Adriene and Cassia fell in the first wave, so did Varric, Cullen, and Isabela. Merrill was caught alive, but I wish she were dead. She’s not yet, but it won’t be long now, I believe. There are cages on the marketplace, filled with mages, lips sewn shut, hands in shackles. They… just leave them there. Making an example. I saw her two days ago and I still can’t stop crying.

So many people dead. Many converted, some even seem to find some peace in the Qun, and any resistance is crushed immediately and bloody. Those who are not killed come back… changed. Fenris talks about re-educators, but even he doesn’t know what exactly they do. It’s not good. So far, he, Anders and I are still holding out, hidden in Darktown, in that in-between place. But it gets more dangerous by the hour, converts bringing more and more people down here. But you know just as well as I do that conversion isn’t an option for Anders and me. And I don’t want to end on the marketplace…

We have a plan, a crazy plan, but I don’t dare to write it down here. With a bit of luck, we can make it to Ostwick or even across the sea to you. But if not… please, Carver, they won’t stop. You need to tell the King and Queen. They need to prepare. The Qunari will start an invasion. And Kirkwall is the ideal port to spread to the Free Marches and Ferelden, even Orlais. They will come.

I hope to find you soon. I love you.

Bethany.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major Character Death, mention of torture


	15. "That's what I'm talking about!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check End Notes for Chapter Warnings

_Case file: agent Hissrad_

Detainee has given himself over to evaluation for possible reintroduction into active duty.

Status: Hissrad.

Station: Commanding officer, assignment Seheron.

Detainee has proven himself useful and devoted to the Qun and given himself over to the reeducators by choice. He exceeded expectations in Seheron. Ties to soldiers under his command extraordinarily strong. Ben-Hassrath decision to kill closest soldiers to minimize emotional bonds and ensure continued operation in Seheron led to unexpected drastic outcomes. Damage could be averted by putting blame on Tal-Vashoth. Detainee eliminated entire Tal-Vashoth stronghold; operation was counted as success. Detainee shows signs of mental exhaustion, and exhibits weariness at notion of Qun. He is given the standard procedure for re-education and is denied sleep and restricted portions of water.

Day 1: Detainee calm, given water but no food but allowed the use of the latrine. Standard debriefing of mission. Detainee asked why he eliminated Tal-Vashoth, responded that he wanted to avenge his squad.

Day 2: Detainee still given only water. He is visibly exhausted but still calm. Told reeducators that he is aware of the reasons for his treatment and requested hallucinogenic drugs to speed up process. Detainee became visibly upset when denied this but calmed himself down immediately. Detainee asked why he eliminated Tal-Vashoth, responded again that he wanted to avenge his squad but added that “eliminating Tal-Vashoth is a service to society”.

Day 3: Detainee refused water and fell asleep in intervals that were immediately interrupted. Shows signs of agitation. Detainee asked why he eliminated Tal-Vashoth, responded that it was the right thing to do and refused any other answer. Was given hallucinogenic drugs which he eagerly took with enthusiastic comment “that’s what I’m talking about” and submitted himself to suggestive teachings.

Day 4: Detainee showed signs of deterioration. Detainee asked why he eliminated Tal-Vashoth, responded with “Do you want the actual answer or the one you expect from a loyal follower of the Qun”. When told that there was no difference, detainee just laughed. He was given water and allowed sleep.

Day 5: Detainee calm and composed, requested and allowed food and water. Detainee asked why he eliminated Tal-Vashoth, responded that “Tal-Vashoth are a threat to the Qun and society” and that “by poisoning both Qunari soldiers and civilians, this particular tribe proved to be such a threat that they had to be eliminated quickly”. When asked whether he served the Qun, detainee answered collected and affirmative. At the suggestion to return to Seheron, he hesitated only shortly before answering that he would serve the Qun wherever he was sent.

Conclusion: After careful consideration, the reeducators agree that the progress and answers show a level of awareness of reeducation processes that continued success cannot be guaranteed. The combination of extraordinary intelligence even for a command position within the Ben-Hassrath and the unsettled faith in the Qun will most likely lead to further complications, potentially even a break from the Qun.

Recommendation: qamek treatment or elimination.

Note: Subject died during qamek treatment.

_Case closed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major Character Death


	16. "Listen. No, really listen."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check End Notes for Chapter Warnings

“Sometimes, I wonder whether the other way would have been the better choice. Where I would be now if I had taken another turn, whether they would have caught me then or if I could have managed to get away. If I should have turned left instead of right. Or if I should have chosen another day. Nothing good ever happens on Tuesdays, right?”

Anders stared at the wall. It was still daytime, and the beloved sliver of light that fell from somewhere far above into his lonely cell crept slowly over the moist rock and stones. If he tilted his head just right, he could still see the face of the woman with the small nose and the soft breasts, with the alluring hips and the warm smile. It was too humid down here at water level for any of the pictures he painted with ashes or the chalky parts of a stone or blood to last long, and he could barely recognize her anymore. More often than not, he had cursed the humidity. Especially in the freezing nights, when nothing seemed to be able to keep the cold away, and he was too exhausted to keep himself warm with magic. 

But then, the humidity had kept him alive so far. He had long become accustomed to the taste of stone and mildew. Better than to die of thirst.

_Right?_

“I’m pretty sure I gave you a name back when I painted you.” He leaned back, huddled into the thin blanket, his hair hanging in dirty strands around his face. “Probably something silly and Orlesian, like Loraine or Chantalle or… I don’t know. Lady Bigtits.” He snorted, his cracked lips turning upwards at his own bad joke. “Remember when I said, ‘Darling, are these screams?’ And you said ‘Bullshit,’ and I said, ‘Listen. No, really listen,’ and you just scoffed at me and said I was imagining things? And I said, ‘No, listen, I think there’s screams,’ and you said, ‘They don’t hear your screams, why would you hear theirs,’ but darling, that’s the wrong question.”

The sliver of light had wandered away from the faded lines on the wall, but Anders kept his eyes where he could still pretend to see the outline of the woman. Loretta. He was pretty sure he had named her Loretta. She had been the best he had painted so far, nearly lifelike. The first time he had been in Solitary, he had tried to paint Karl, and after a few months, it had actually looked like him. But soon, he had found it too painful to look at him. There had been nightmares where the painting had come alive and he had known that it was his fault that Karl was now condemned to this cell as well. Ever since, he had no longer painted people he actually knew.

It made no difference anyway. Talk to the paintings long enough, and they started to talk back, got a personality. But when their outlines faded, so did they, and no nightmares told him about their captivity.

Loretta was the first he had started to forget before the lines were completely gone.

But then, it was the first time they had forgotten to feed him for such a prolonged time. How long was it now? Three weeks?

“The question you should have asked is not ‘why would you hear their screams’, it’s ‘why is there screaming in the Circle’?”

He had been wondering about it ever since. There had been screams and sounds of fighting, and if he wasn’t completely wrong, demons roaring as well. A Harrowing gone wrong? Or a templar who had gone too far and made his victim turn?

But then, it had been too long for just a single abomination. And there had been magic in the air, so much magic — and Smiting. It had made him shiver even down here.

But nobody had answered his calls, his hammering at the door. Not even as his questions had turned into screams of help, and then into wordless, animalistic howling when the hunger had started to eat him up from inside.

The sliver of light had gone thin as a thread and Anders’ eyes burned from the strain of keeping them open.

“I think they have finally forgotten about me.”

The words hung in the air, sinking slowly to the ground, and when they reached it, the light died, and the darkness was back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Implied Major Character Death


	17. "There is something about them..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check End Notes for Chapter Warnings

The Fade wasn’t at all what Cassia had envisioned. From her better dreams, she had somehow expected everything to be vibrant, ever-changing and ethereal. But physically walking in it felt vastly different. It was cold. Sharp. A world made out of hard edges and the absence of real light. Though maybe, she thought, it wasn’t all of the Fade that was like this…

Cassia didn’t know how much time had passed since she had slain the Nightmare, but she had been searching for a way out of its domain ever since.

Without success.

She tried her best to keep track of time at first. Trying to count the times she went to sleep, making her own little day and night cycle out of it. Until she lost count one day. Had it been 78 days so far? Or 87? She couldn't tell anymore.

The domain the Nightmare had claimed was vast. And with its death, it slowly became something even more unsettling: Entirely empty. Where they had encountered smaller demons when they first had gotten here, where whisps had flown over muddy puddles, there was nothing at all now. An unsettling feeling. Like this corner of the Fade, that had been hidden away as the Nightmare’s lair, was now entirely forgotten.

It took Cassia about two weeks in her own time scale to come to the conclusion that she might very well be the only thing still alive in this realm. A thought that left her cold inside and terrified her. There was no hunger, no thirst. Almost as if she was dead already. And with no one else alive around her, not even a demon to fight, the only thing she could actually do was search for an escape, day in and day out. And so she did. Relentlessly.

She found herself strangely drawn to the puddles of moisture that wasn’t quite water that remained in the cracks of the ground here and there. There was something about them… The clearer ones at least. She could see her own reflection in them. They drew her back every day and Cassia sat and looked at herself whenever she saw one, finding her own eyes looking back at her. Proof that she still existed. Still was real. Still was there.

It took her another week until she cracked for the first time.

Despair was a powerful emotion, even when not directly fuelled by a demon, and after weeks of searching and walking around, turning over every stone she could lift, and mapping out as much as she could of the area, Cassia felt brittle. It had been weeks since she had said a single word out loud, and her first cry took her by surprise, startled her with the sound of her own voice. She didn’t look for a way out at all that day, crying and screaming against the unmoving stones around her until blissful exhaustion claimed her mind.

She woke still exhausted, but the crying and screaming had helped somewhat. She pulled herself together, trying to keep her thoughts focused as she continued the search.

_‘Find a way out, find a way home!’_

Cassia kept repeating the words to herself. Out loud or in her head - after a while, she forgot how to tell the difference. It became another cycle for her. Hanging on to hope, searching, looking. The despair slowly creeping up on her until it got too much, and she had to scream herself hoarse in the deafening silence.

Weeks. Months. How many? After the fourth time, she stopped counting.

Cassia had always been a person of solitude, but this was something she could never have imagined. Where solitude once had felt like a blessing, a welcomed reprieve, it was now nothing but suffocating. Slowly, piece by piece, she felt herself getting lost. The moments where she would just be still and stare into nothing became longer and longer. Sometimes, she couldn’t leave her place next to the dwindling remains of the puddles on the ground. The search for a way out became shorter every day.

Slowly, over time, the puddles and moist surfaces dried up completely, and even the faint glow, a shallow imitation of light that illuminated this realm, seemed to dim day by day. A nameless fear crept up in Cassia when she realized she could barely see a few steps in front of her anymore. It was as if the realm was not only abandoned but slowly dying around her.

The day she awoke into total darkness she screamed, and her fists hit the stone she couldn’t see anymore until her skin broke. She felt the wetness of her falling tears mix with the blood on her hands before she sank down onto her knees, but there were no words of faith left in her. Prayer hadn’t done a thing for her so far.

She had begged the Maker to help her every day since she arrived. She had asked for his help, had screamed for it. Begged. Demanded. Whimpered. She had sent all her pleas to him and his bride, but neither he nor Andraste had deemed her worthy of an answer, of help.

With the blood dripping from her hands, she tried summoning a demon but there was no answer. Not that it surprised her. After what she had done to the last demon who tried to make a deal with her, it was only natural that no demon would answer her call. If they even could.

The now slippery rock beneath her hand became what her reflection had been before, some sort of tangible proof that she was still there. That something still existed. She kept holding on to it. Clinging to it. She had long stopped sleeping. It wasn’t necessary here and being awake or asleep had started to feel the same after a point.

Ca…

What was her name again? She was certain she had had one. But no matter how much she thought about it, she couldn’t remember anymore. Other names stayed a bit longer with her. Adriene, Maia, Cullen… They were important. Had been important. Even though she couldn’t tell why anymore.

Her hands still clung to something, but she couldn’t tell what anymore. There had been something solid. Something real. A long time ago. But now, there was only darkness around her. In a brief moment of clarity, she regretted not having given up earlier. At a time when there had still been something around her. Something she could have used to end her own, miserable existence. Now, it was too late. She had no surface to stand on, no air to breathe, just… nothingness, the boundaries between her own form and the nothing around her slowly disappearing. The names she still remembered faded over time. As did her memories of having form, of being someone.

‘Dying would have been a blessing.’

It was one of the last coherent thoughts her mind could form. She had forgotten who she was a long time ago, but it was nothing compared to the day she forgot that she existed at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major Character Death


	18. "Secrets? I love secrets!"

“You are being weird!”

Varric’s fingers slid over a smooth surface, momentarily distracted by the shape in his pocket before he looked up at Cassia’s words — only to see that they weren’t directed at him. Across the room, Isabela snorted.

“Me? Nonsense!”

“You are not usually this skittish and nervous, no matter the job…” Cassia said as she went through a pile of books, checking each title for something to go on.

“I am just…” Isabela started before she let out a small sigh and shrugged. Her glance went over in Varric’s direction. “I don’t want to be disrespectful towards the dead,” she said with a surprising amount of softness in her voice.

“Oh please, since when do you care about respecting the dead,” Cassia huffed, but as she turned around and saw the look in Isabela’s eyes, she paused. Her eyes went back and forth between her and Varric, taking in both their expressions as she understood. It wasn’t the dead that Isabela was worried about. It was Varric.

“Oh,” Cassia said quietly.

Isabela just shrugged again. “Oh indeed.”

Varric meanwhile shook his head vehemently. “Oh will you two stop this already? There is no need to walk on eggshells around me!” His hand opened and closed around the shape in his pocket again.

He was doing his best to send both of them a reprimanding look, but there was no mistaking the fondness in his eyes at his friends' worry about him for anything else. He shook his head, a quiet smile on his lips.

“I appreciate your concern, but as much as I wish things could have gone differently with my brother, he made his choices, and I can live with that.” He wasn’t lying. Not even to himself. He would be able to get over his brother's betrayal. In time. Varric was sure of it. Just as he was sure that part of it would cling to him indefinitely. The feeling of his crossbow on his back was unusually heavy for a moment. He had never been someone who could easily let go of the past. But he was someone who had found a way to move on, no matter how many past shadows still clung to him. He took a deep breath.

“Now, shall we get back to work?” he asked both his companions, and with a wink, he added, “You never know how many old secrets my brother has still hidden away in here after all.”

At his words, Isabela’s eyes lit up. “Secrets? I love secrets!” With a wide grin, she walked past him, into the next, so far untouched room. “I am going to find them all way before any of you do,” she added almost casually, and Cassia let out a laugh at her words.

With a look that resembled her sister in almost every detail, her eyes narrowed. “A challenge then? Let’s see who can find the most secrets!” And with a grin towards Varric, she went after the other woman, clearly unwilling to be outdone.

His eyes followed them as his hand still fiddled with the strange shape he had found. The rock he had taken from his brother’s body. His mouth slightly open already, a sound in his throat halfway there to get their attention again. To tell them what he found. It looked so unassuming, but it felt like anything but. The stone in his hand, the lyrium in it, it sang to him. An old song. The music of the stone he had all but forgotten in his time away from home. 

Varric had never regretted going to the surface. He knew it had been his path. The right decision for him. But it didn’t stop him from missing home every now and then, despite the front of indifference he normally put up. He didn’t miss the politics, or even most of the people. But that deep feeling of home that only the song of the stone brought with it was something he hadn’t experienced in years. Not until now. Somehow, in his pocket, he held a piece of his home, and it sang louder than every one of his memories.

His fingers curled tightly around it, not daring to take it out and inspect it further right at this moment. There had been a red hue around it that looked alarming, but once he had touched it, his worries had scattered under the feeling of _right_. It felt so right in the palm of his hand. Like it was meant to be there. For him and no one else.

Varric’s mouth closed again, swallowing the unspoken words back down. The blighted Deep Roads expedition had taken enough from him already. Had claimed the life of his brother and nearly his own, and somehow, the piece of rock in his hand was the only thing left. It belonged to him. Was his by right. His connection to his long lost home and the last thing connecting him to his now equally lost brother. 

He would keep it closely to his heart and he would keep it to himself.

Much, much later, when the stone had gone beyond feeling like home and started to speak to him, he knew in his heart that it had been the right — the only — choice.


	19. "Yes, I admit it, you were right."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check End Notes for Chapter Warnings

The Chantry was dark in the night, the flickering candles waking shadows that seemed to reach for Isabela as she walked further in. She couldn’t help a slight shiver. How people came here for comfort was beyond her. To her, the huge statue of Andraste seemed anything but comforting in the way it loomed above her, her face more of a grimace than anything else, lit from below as it was.

Her steps echoed slightly in the main room… but when she stopped, the steps didn’t stop. Isabela sighed. She should have known Hayder would not play fair.

“You actually came alone,” Hayder said, clicking his tongue as he stepped forward. “I’m not sure whether I should be impressed by your honesty or appalled by your stupidity.” He looked to the side to his second-in-command. “See, Tenner, told you so.”

“Yes, fine, I admit it, you were right,” the woman sneered, looking annoyed. “Here’s your ten silver.”

Isabela rolled her eyes as the coins switched hands. “Come on, Hayder,” she said. “No need to be so melodramatic. I actually considered getting backup, but we’re old friends, are we not?” She put a hand on her hip, shifting her weight slightly as she struck her usual, alluring pose. “I’m sure we can find a solution to our little quarrel.”

Hayder only scoffed. “Yeah, I don’t think so, Isabela. This can go two ways.” As he spoke, three — no, four — other men in armor, two of which had crossbows, moved into position. _Shit._ “Either you have the relic, then we have a deal, or you don’t. Then you die. Simple as that.”

Isabela took a breath, narrowing her eyes at Hayder. A cold feeling crept down her back as she realized just how outmanned she was. “I told you, Hayder, I _lost_ the relic.”

He interrupted her before she could continue, drawing his two-handed sword. “Well, then I can only hope you have enough gold on you to satisfy Castillon.”

Isabela already had her knives in her hands, her body taut as a strung bow. _Shit shit shit. That blighted bastard._ She really should have swallowed her pride and asked that Hawke woman for support. _Shit._

“Hayder, wait!” she exclaimed.

But Hayder didn’t wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Implied Character Death


	20. "You could talk about it, you know."

“You could talk about it, you know?”

The voice that tore Leliana from her thoughts belonged to a young woman she had seen in the Chantry quite a few times already. She looked around the room, wondering if she had meant someone else, but it became obvious that her words had been directed at her.

“I’m sorry?” Leliana asked with an apologetic smile. “I don’t know what this is about, I’m afraid.”

The woman, Bethany had been her name if Leliana remembered correctly, shot her a tentative smile.

“Talk about the thing that makes you look so sad,” she explained, an offer of lend her ear to listen more than obviously implied, but Leliana shook her head.

“I’m not sad, just a bit tired. Don’t worry about me.”

Across from her, Bethany shot her a look of disbelief.

“Sister Leliana, you yourself told a rather lengthy story about how lying is a sin in the eyes of the Maker just a few weeks ago…” she said with an amused glint in her eyes. “You always seem a little restless. Like you are waiting for something…”

Apparently the youngest Hawke daughter was rather perceptive. Leliana couldn’t fault her curiosity. If she was honest with herself, it felt rather nice to know that someone in this little town cared enough to ask. That she didn’t have a clear or satisfying answer wasn’t Bethany’s fault, after all.

“You are right, but I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything, simply because I don’t know…”

“You don’t know?” came the surprised question, and Leliana sighed.

“I have these dreams. Of the Maker telling me to be here. To help. And I am doing my best, but I can’t help but feel like I am missing something.”

Leliana surprised herself with her sudden openness, almost immediately raising her mental walls back up again, readying herself for a patronizing response. Ridicule. A pitying smile. Like she usually got when she told anyone about her dreams. But on Bethany’s face, she could see only sympathy.

“I can imagine that that would make me restless too,” the other woman said. “It’s… hard to stay calm and at peace when you know something is coming but can do nothing but wait…”

Leliana wasn’t entirely sure what Bethany was talking about, but she nodded nonetheless.

“Maybe you need some distraction!” Bethany suddenly said. “An evening out in the tavern perhaps? Just to get your mind off things.”

Leliana could do nothing but smile at the other woman’s honest try at making her feel better. “That is a nice idea, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t know what to do with myself there,” she politely declined. “And I am needed here.” She gestured around the small side room of the chantry where she spent the better part of her days tending to the people of the village that were too old or too sick to care for themselves anymore.

“I know what you mean,” Bethany sighed as well. “This is hardly a time where any sort of levity is appropriate.” Her shoulders sunk as she looked across the room, but after a small pause, she perked up again. “But how about this: I am waiting for my brother and sister to return from Ostagar. They should be here any day now, and once they are back, we actually do have something to celebrate for once. Maybe you’ll come with us to the tavern then?”

Leliana wanted to decline again, but the hopeful look in Bethany’s eyes made her smile and nod instead. She could hear the hints of worry at the mention of her siblings. Could see how hard she tried to stay positive. Hoping.

“That sounds like a plan! When they are back, I’ll come with you to the tavern and we’ll celebrate,” she agreed. She could see that Bethany perked up at her words, acutely aware that Leliana had said ‘when’ and not ‘if.

“Yes!” she agreed. “I’ll come by as soon as they are back then!” And with a wide smile and a friendly goodbye, Bethany went on her way home, leaving Leliana to go back to her task of caring for the sick. Maybe an evening in the tavern wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all, she thought. As much as she wanted to follow the Maker’s wishes for her, to do what the dreams told her and help wherever she could, a single evening would not be something he’d object to, right?

It was a little over a week later when she saw Bethany again. The young woman was in a hurry and almost ran past her in front of the Chantry. At her friendly greeting, she looked at her with sad eyes.

“Sister Leliana,” she greeted back, her eyes unfocused and… wet? “I’m sorry! My mother has decided to leave Lothering. She and my sister are packing right now, and I am getting the last few things we need for the road…”

Understanding dawned in Leliana. “Your siblings?” she asked carefully, and Bethany shook her head vehemently, visibly swallowing back a sob.

“They haven't returned… If they were alive, they would have by now, and we can’t wait any longer…” Her voice was strained, but the tears gathering in her eyes did not fall. “The ones who have returned from the battlefield say the horde is on their heels… the Darkspawn are coming and…” Her voice broke off as she stared into nothingness for a moment before her eyes went back to Leliana.

“We never got to go to the tavern after all,” Bethany said with a sad smile on her face. “I would have loved to listen to more of your stories.”

“You have listened to plenty of my stories already,” Leliana offered with a kind voice. “Perhaps you can tell them to others, wherever your path may lead you and your family.” She had known Bethany Hawke for a while by now, and though their acquaintance had always stayed on a superficial level, something about this goodbye felt almost profound.

“Come with us!” Bethany suddenly burst out. “Lothering will be overrun. If you want to leave, now is the time. The last chance probably, and you could travel with us.” She barely paused for breath. “We are going to Kirkwall. I am sure the Chantry there can need your help just as well.”

For a brief moment, Leliana was more than tempted. She didn’t have many personal belongings. It would take no time for her to pack her bag and leave this small village behind. Her eyes went from Bethany’s hopeful face to the Chantry door and the room behind it. The room filled with people that didn’t have the option she had just been presented with. That could never leave. Their lives would end in Lothering, one way or another, but her own didn’t have to. She could still get out of this alive, Leliana realized.

Just as she knew in her heart that she would never be able to live with herself.

“I am grateful for the offer,” she said slowly, ignoring how the sight of Bethany’s face falling made her heart clench. “But I’m needed here. The Maker gave me a task, and I just… I have to help them. For as long as I can.”

Bethany nodded, swallowing once before she sighed. “I understand. I wish you the best of luck.”

“And I wish you a safe journey. Hopefully, you’ll find a better home than this. One where you’ll be safe.” She allowed herself one last smile. “I shall pray for your safety for as long as I am able to.”

She could see the tears in the other woman’s face threatening to spill over again, and it was enough to make her own throat feel suspiciously tight. “Now go, don’t leave your mother waiting!” she shooed her off, opening the large door to step back into the Chantry.

“I will pray for you as well,” came Bethany’s voice from behind her. “And I’ll remember your stories. Always!”

After that, all Leliana could hear were the footsteps rapidly moving away from her. For a brief moment, she wondered if she should perhaps go to the tavern anyway. The Darkspawn would come, whatever she did after all. It was only a matter of time. From what she had gathered from Bethany and the whispers around the people still seeking solace in the Chantry, it would only be a matter of days. Maybe hours even. Time enough for a drink. Perhaps to break out some old habits and get into a bar fight... But a whimper from the side room blew those thoughts from her mind.

She was here to help. The Maker had willed it, and if Leliana was truly honest with herself, this was where she wanted to be. The Chantry had saved her when everyone else in the world had forsaken her. Had nursed her back to health, plucked her from death’s door and had given her another chance at life. And most of all, it had given her comfort. Peace. And the feeling of being loved.

She was no hero, out there to rid the world of evil and darkness. She could not simply wander off and hope to have any chance at stopping the Blight, the Darkspawn or any other nameless evil lurking in the shadows. But what she could do was go into that room again and make sure everyone in it was at peace. Felt taken care of. Loved.

For a brief second, she wanted to despair. What could a single Chantry sister do against a horde of evil? They would all die a painful death, torn apart by the most monstrous and vile things they could think of.

She could not save these people. Not from certain death.

A single Chantry sister could not have done anything. Then again, Leliana was anything but. Mother Dorothea had always said to her that everything that had happened to her would serve a purpose. That the Maker didn’t make mistakes. And for the first time, she felt at peace with the thought that everything she had gone through had been by design. Had made her into the person capable of doing what the Maker needed her to do.

She had been waiting for something, someone to come to Lothering, so she might find her purpose. The meaning behind her dreams. She had always assumed it would be a person. Someone she could help or someone she could follow even. But maybe she wasn’t meant to be a savior. Death was inevitable after all, the method though... Maybe the Maker had led her here for this precise purpose. So she could make sure none of them had to die afraid or alone.

As she closed the heavy Chantry doors behind her, her mind was already busy going through their inventory, the potions they still had in store and the ways to alter them. The sound of the lock snapping shut behind her was surprisingly loud, but no one paid any attention to it, all of them busy praying, not knowing that she had come to their salvation. That the Maker had sent her so she could love them until the very end.


	21. "Change is annoyingly difficult."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check End Notes for Chapter Warnings

Fian had taken Zevran on a stroll through Denerim’s streets. Little stories here, a memory there, but mostly, it was just spending time with each other. There was that warm feeling of belonging when she looked at him, her fingers intertwined with his, and when he spoke of showing her Antiva one day, she smiled, her heart making a giddy flip at the thought.

Neither of them had been prepared for the ambush.

The Crows.

"You can return with me, Zevran," Taliesen said in his low, seductive voice. "I know why you did this, and I don't blame you. But it's not too late." There was just a flicker of his eyes over to her before he looked back to Zevran. "Come back, and we'll make up a story. Anyone can make a mistake."

She scoffed. "Zevran doesn’t need the Crows any longer."

"Oh? Does Zevran need to live?"

Fian looked over to Zevran, and the fiery confidence that had filled her until now bled away at the way he avoided her eyes. For a moment, nobody said anything, then Zevran looked up, a pained hardness in his eyes she had never seen before.

"Taliesen is right, Grey Warden," Zevran said.

She took a step towards him. "Zevran," she pleaded, but whatever she had wanted to say got lost in Taliesen’s laugh.

"Oh, I see what angle you played, Zevran, very well done. Made her smitten with you, huh?"

Uncertainty flickered through Fian, then a sharp pain as Zevran chuckled and looked up to Taliesen.

"Always worked before," he said with a lopsided grin.

"No," she breathed, ignoring Taliesen’s amusement from where he looked down at them. "Zev, no."

He hesitated as she reached for his hand, desperately. This couldn't be true. She had put her trust in him, she had offered _herself_ to him. And he’d had her back, always. All through those months, he had been at her side — through the Deep Roads, through the Brecilian Forest, through Redcliffe, through all of it. He had even been in her bed… he couldn't have pretended all of it.

Could he?

“Change is annoyingly difficult,” Taliesen said, a sneer to his voice. "And you’ll find that that’s doubly true for a Crow. And Zevran is a Crow, through and through. Isn’t that right, Zevran?"

Zevran looked at Fian, tilting his head. There was something battling inside him, uncertainty and hopelessness, and that iron will to live that she knew so well, that she had always admired. "Ah, my dear Warden, we’ve always known it would come to this, no?" He spread his hands. "It was just a game to pass the time, after all. A diversion."

She let her hand sink, her throat suddenly very tight. She felt like she would break in half, so bad was the pain in her heart, and slowly, she shook her head.

"It wasn't for me, Zev." It was the way his eyes widened at her words that brought a sudden, desperate hope back into her voice, and Fian concentrated only on him. Had she been too laid-back? Should she have told him what she felt for him earlier?

But that was an error she could correct. She would tell him what he meant to her, what she saw in him. If only he would not throw everything they had achieved, everything they had worked for away now. 

"It wasn't just a game," she said, putting weight in every word. "It stopped being tha—"

The word got stuck somehow, and something red splattered on Zevran’s face. For a split-second, Fian was confused, then the pain exploded through her. Another split-second later, she belatedly registered the sound of a crossbow being fired. 

"Fian!" he exclaimed, horror in his eyes.

"I got really tired of waiting," Taliesen said, nearly bored. "You owe me, Zevran."

She tried to draw a breath, but blood bubbled out of her mouth. Already, her vision was darkening. There was no strength left in her fingers as she clawed at the bolt in her throat, then Zevran’s arms were around her just in time to keep her from falling.

“Fian, no, no, please, mi amor,” he whispered, desperation in his voice as he sank to the ground with her. 

Tears were in her eyes as she stared at him, but it was hard to keep her focus. Her fingers twitched, then her head sank against his shoulder, her eyes open and dead as they stared past Zevran into the night sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major Character Death


	22. "We could have a chance."

“Mama, I don’t know what to do,” Lyssa whispered, wiping her mother’s forehead. Cold sweat stood on her skin and her eyes flickered from left to right beneath the closed lids.

“Mama, please, wake up?”

The sickness had started two weeks ago, and Darina’s skin had taken on that dark, greyish tint that spoke of horrors and Blight. They had gone through their supply of medicine even before that, tending to their neighbors. She had had nothing left once her mother fell sick, too. The alienage was closed off, and the minimal food that came through the closed gates was not enough to feed everyone. People starved, and more fell sick every day.

Lyssa waited for another few seconds, but nothing could be heard but Darina’s labored breath. She sank back into her chair, pulling her legs up and wrapping her arms around it. Burying her face against her legs, she fought the tears back. She couldn’t remember ever having been so exhausted. But her dreams were haunted by horrors and demons, by what had happened in the orphanage, and her days were bleak and full of hunger.

“I can’t… do anything else,” she murmured, a sob stuck in her throat. “I’m so tired. Why did we wait, Mama? We should have taken our chances on the road, we should have left when we still could…” Too often had they had that argument already, and she knew what her mother would say. _We didn’t have enough food, where would we have gone, we would have run into the horde._ In the end, it didn’t matter. They had waited, had carefully planned and packed… but then the wedding had happened. The rapes. The murder of the lordling. Fian, taken by the Grey Warden, and the alienage locked up. And it had been too late to leave.

Lyssa took a deep breath and looked up. For a moment, her eyes lingered on her mother’s face, then she cleared her throat. “I’m going to get the healers, Mama.” Her voice had a hard edge to it. She didn’t trust them, her mother didn’t trust them, the Tevinter hospital that nobody came out of, but she was out of options. “We could have a chance with them. Even if it’s a slim one, it’s the only one we still have.”

Her mother did not react, but Lyssa wasn’t surprised. She hadn’t been awake for the last two days, and Lyssa had barely managed to get some water into her. She needed help, quickly.

“I’ll be back soon, Mama,” she said softly, kissing her mother on the forehead, and tucked the blanket more tightly around her. Then, she went to seek the healers, closing the door behind her.

Lyssa woke slowly, a groan falling from her lips. For a few seconds, she didn’t know where she was, and as she moved to sit up, a sharp pain shot through her head. Carefully, she touched the back of her head, and her hand came away sticky.

“Ah, you are awake, how fortunate,” a male, dark voice said. It sounded distinguished, the words carefully formed, and she looked up. Her eyes widened fearfully as she realized she was in a slave cage. Slowly, the memory came back. How she had talked to the healers, how they had agreed to go with her to get her mother. The dull hit on her head as soon as she had turned around to lead the way. The darkness that had followed.

Understanding dawned in her and an expression of horror came on her face. That was why nobody came back from the hospital. They were taken prisoner.

“Imagine my surprise when I realized what a special catch you were, little one,” the man said, and Lyssa forced herself to focus on him. He was human, in expensive, heavy robes, a staff leaning next to him at the wall. His head was bald, but a dark beard accentuated his face, and an eager, nearly hungry gleam was in his eyes. Instinctively, she shied away from him until the cage stopped her.

“You’re a mage,” she breathed, and he laughed.

“So are you.” His grin widened. “You are gonna fetch me a grand prize on the market, little one. Pretty, young, and with magic. Oh, the rituals we could use you for! Delicious.”

Instinctively, Lyssa tried to reach for the warm glow deep inside her where she knew her magic was to try and free herself, but another sharp pain shot through her.

“Don’t bother, little one. This cage is warded against magic.” The human took his staff and got up again. A dark hopelessness rose inside her as he turned away from her.

“Wait!” she called out before she could think better of it. The man turned back to her, raising an eyebrow. She fought to her feet, coming to the front of the cage, but when she tried to touch the bars, an electric shock shot through her, and she quickly drew her hands back. “What about my mother?” If her freedom was the prize to save her life, so be it.

It took him a moment to answer. “Your mother? She’s sick, yes?”

Lyssa nodded. “You need to help her, please. I’ll come with you voluntarily if you help her. Please!”

He only laughed. “Ah, you are too sweet. I don’t need you to volunteer. I already have you. And if your mother is sick, she is of no use to us.” He gave her a cold smile. “Don’t worry, little one. It’ll be over for her, soon.” And with that, he turned and walked away.

Lyssa stared after him in horror. “No! No, please! NO!”

Her screams remained unheard as the door fell shut with a heavy thud.


	23. "You can't give more than yourself."

Dear Cassia,

I know that when this letter reaches you, I’ll be gone, and you will probably be furious and upset, and I am really, honestly sorry for that. I wanted so much to tell you what I planned. To talk to you about so many things, but I was afraid. Afraid that you might convince me to stay. If anyone could have, it would have probably been you with your way with words. But I needed to do this. For our family, for you, and, to a degree for myself as well.

When the rumors about a possible mage in our family broke out after we helped Feynriel, it was only a matter of time before the templars would come to investigate and find what they were looking for. The consequences for our family for hiding an apostate… I didn’t want you all to have to face them. I don’t know what has happened to you down in the Deep Roads, but I know that you are not well. I’ve seen it.

Father always said ‘You can’t give more than yourself’. I know he meant to say there are limits for everyone. And I have found mine. Turns out, I am unable to stand by and watch while being afraid of losing my sister. I talked to Anders about you, and he confirmed some things. He also said you don’t think you can fix it. I honestly don’t know what I think about that, but I thought: Ultimately, it doesn’t matter. There are people who would not stop to ask about details before acting. 

I wanted to spare you, of all people, from becoming a victim of said thoughtless injustice. You, who always had a so much harder time with everything than I did, and who still always put their own discomfort aside after father died, to make sure I was taken care of. You taught me as much as he did, and it makes me unbelievably sad that you had to do that all while hating yourself. I spent nights weeping for you because you did all that and gave me all the acceptance and kindness I needed while never giving any of it to yourself. 

Sister, please, if you take one thing away from this, let it be this: I love you. So does Carver. Adriene loves you, and mother, too, even if she shows it in strange ways sometimes. And all of us love you as you are, and whatever it is that is your burden right now, I pray to the Maker you can move past it. 

But please don’t take on all the responsibility for my current state. I know you. Both you and Adriene tend to go out of your way to find a way to blame yourselves for everything bad happening. I also did this for myself. I am tired of running. Tired of hiding and always being at risk. We’ve been running for so long, always on the move as soon as something like this happened. And I just want to stop. Stop running and not have to feel like I am constantly looking over my shoulder.

I also want to learn more. Grow my abilities and find out more about the roots and the possibilities of magic. And whatever else may speak against the Circle, there is really no better place to do all that. 

I know I am going to miss you, all of you, like crazy. And you are going to miss me, too, but I will be alright, I promise. I’ll make new friends, learn new things and maybe, at some point we’ll even get to see each other again, and you will be proud of all that I have learned, all that I have mastered until then.

You, Adriene, and mother have only each other now, so please take care of them. Take care of each other. And if possible, send me a letter now and then. 

Yours with all my love,

Bethany


	24. "Patience... is not something I'm known for."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See End Notes for Chapter Warnings

_“A N D E R S”_

Anders had never run this fast in his life. His mana reserves were depleted — not that his magic had been any help so far — and he had no hope to defeat the abomination on his heels by hand. Not even with the lessons Nathaniel and Sigrun had given him, not even if he had a sword.

Maker, what had he done?

Slipping on the wet autumn leaves on the ground, he fell, hard. His teeth clacked painfully together as his head collided with the ground, and for a second, all he could do was gasp for breath.

_“A N D E R S”_

The inhuman, horrible growl was closer this time, and Anders struggled back on his feet, panting. A flicker of magic inside him, and he sent a burst of healing through himself, then he started running again. He had thought he could lose the abomination in the woods, but Vengeance seemed to never lose sight of him. Wherever he turned, the abomination came closer. And he was losing ground, quickly.

He had no idea when Justice had finally turned into Vengeance, but it was clear that he was the only person on Vengeance’s mind. The abomination had turned up unexpectedly, a red-and-white glowing fiery demon that made the air around it sizzle, claws of light and steel ripping through everything and everyone that stood in front of it. Magic seemed to just bounce off it, and neither his fireballs nor stonefists nor anything else he had thrown at it had made any difference.

_“A N D E R S”_

His name had been a hiss first, then a scream, then a screech and a growl, and Anders had run and run and run. He had been running for three days now, and his strength was fading quickly. He would die. Soon. Either because Vengeance caught up with him, or because his body gave up.

The worst thing was that Anders knew exactly why Vengeance was after him. He had thought about offering Justice to merge with him, to offer himself as host for the spirit until they found a way to return it to the Fade, but had decided against it in the end.

They had traveled together for a while but split up when it became clear that the body Justice inhabited was beyond saving. Anders had tried everything he could think of to send Justice back to the Fade — everything other than blood magic, at least — but to no avail. Justice had sensed his thoughts, had sensed his hesitation.

“Patience... is not something Kristoff was known for,” the spirit had said, and it had been ominous enough that Anders had decided against offering himself. He knew that the dead host’s personality could not influence Justice, but for the first time, he had thought about what consequences the presence of two personalities in one body might have.

“I can’t do this, I am sorry,” Anders had said. Justice had just looked at him and watched him leave.

And now, it had come back to take what it needed. Or maybe just to seek revenge for the help he had denied it.

The flip side of Justice was Vengeance... but was there really any difference to Revenge?

_“A N D E R S”_

His legs gave way beneath him, and Anders fell to the ground. Every breath he took hurt like he was breathing glass shards, and the muscles in his body could do nothing but tremble. With an effort, Anders pushed himself up again, but only managed to turn himself on his back before his arms stopped working again, and he sagged down. An exhausted sob escaped him as he heard _something_ come closer, with that strange, brittle sound that Vengeance made as it slithered over the ground.

This was it.

_“A N D E R S”_

With trembling fingers, Anders took out the tiny vial he always had with him, hidden in a disguised, padded pocket in his clothes. Nobody would take him again, he had promised himself that. Nobody would ever take him again.

The fluid was bittersweet and burned on his tongue, but he did not hesitate. He had always thought it would be templars that would make him take the poison, but in the end, it didn’t matter if it was Tranquility or an abomination that took his mind.

He would not allow it.

Anders smiled at the thought, even as his limbs stopped working completely, and he was unable to draw breath anymore.

He had not allowed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Implied Major Character Death


	25. "I could really eat something."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check End Notes for Chapter Warnings

_First day, they come and catch everyone._

That was the easiest. Horrible nonetheless, of course. Morrigan was dead, her scream cut short by the drop into the lava. Shale was dead, smashed into bits. Zevran had been wondering if the golem even _could_ die, but... she could. Quite horribly, in fact. Alistair had the looks of someone who had caught a fever, and they all pretended not to see the black streaks growing from the wound on his shoulder. Oghren no longer moved, and Zev wasn’t sure if he just managed to sleep or if the wounds had killed him after all. But then, it didn’t quite matter, did it? He had been wondering why they hadn’t just killed them all, but then the poem had started to come back to him. That horrible poem that Hespith had told them, over and over again, before they had found the Anvil. Before Branka had managed to trap them and the Darkspawn had overwhelmed them. They shouldn’t have taken that extra day to rest. They should have pushed on. But now, there was no use in should haves. Now, all he could do was pray to whatever god listened to save the Warden. _His_ Warden.

_Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat._

Oghren really had died, and now, he wasn’t much more than a half-eaten corpse.

It had saved the rest of them from being eaten, he supposed. But then, he really didn’t want to know what was in that stew-like meal they had forced down Leliana and Fian’s throat. They had both tried to throw up, but couldn’t. Zevran felt the infection burning in his legs, but pain was something he could manage. Was something he could deal with. What he couldn’t deal with was the horror in Fian’s eyes.

“Why aren’t they killing us?” Wynne asked.

Leliana just buried her face in her bloody hands.

“They need us for something else,” Fian said, her voice toneless, her eyes blank. “That’s the reason why there are so few female Wardens, isn’t it, Alistair?”

It could have been an accusation, but somehow, it wasn’t. Which made it worse, in a way.

“I didn’t know,” Alistair said, pleadingly. “I swear, I didn’t know.”

Fian bit her lip that had started to tremble. “I believe you,” she muttered.

Then she looked to Zev, chained to the wall opposite her, and he felt like crying. 

_Third day, the men are all gnawed on again._

Sten had tried to fight, the brave man, and for a few glorious minutes, the fight had come back to them all. Now, Leliana was dead, blessedly dead. Sten was mostly dead, too, and since Oghren was no more than a banged-up piece of armor anymore, they had turned to gnaw on him. The black streaks had reached Alistair’s face, and he no longer responded to the others. Not even to Wynne’s begging. He seemed to just wait. Not that Zev blamed him. He was close to giving up, himself.

_Fourth day, we wait and fear for our fate._

Who knew that darkness could be so absolute? They force-fed Fian again, and took Alistair away who hung limp in their grip, his eyes blind and flickering. When the torches were gone again, Zevran cried when he thought of the sickly, feverish look in Fian’s eyes; the darkness a soothing blanket around him. He had always thought he would die by a weapon. Not by infection. Not by... this. Maker help them all.

_Fifth day, they return and it's another girl's turn._

They forced them to watch. And he knew afterwards that Fian was dead. What looked at them from Fian’s eyes was no longer her but a broken, changing _thing_.

“Mi amor, please,” he begged, but it was useless. She just turned her head to the side, the wordless humming falling from her lips a perpetual, horrible sound in the darkness. 

_Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams._

Was he awake or dead? Dreaming? It didn’t matter. If only he could reach a weapon, could unchain himself. But his hands were already raw and bloody from the futile tries. He knew he couldn’t escape, but he might be able to kill them all. It would be a better end.

It would be an end.

_Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew._

Zevran had never thought something could be worse than the abominations in the tower. Turned out, he was wrong. He could no longer use his legs, and the infection made him delirious, so for a blessed time he thought he hallucinated. He didn’t.

_Eighth day, we hated as she is violated._

He couldn’t watch. Not again. But he couldn’t turn off his hearing. 

_Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin._

Sten was no longer only mostly dead.

When Fian — or what was left of her — had said “I could really eat something,” Zev had a delirious, happy moment where he thought they were back at camp. If her voice hadn’t been distorted like that, if her face hadn’t been that greyish bloated thing with sharp teeth, it could have been her. Something she’d say in the morning, stretching lazily in their tent, their legs still entangled from the night. She had always been hungry after they made love.

But now, she... _it_ was no longer chained. Just grabbing at Sten’s corpse, drooling as it did so. He had looked away afterwards.

_Now she does feast, as she's become the beast._

He would die soon and it would be a blessing, Zev knew. The infection was too bad. He could no longer move his legs, and if his eyes didn’t deceive him, there were black streaks on his skin, too. Wynne said even if they were saved now, she could no longer help him. Then, she had sent the spirit inside her away and died, and now, he was alone, dying himself. He just hoped he would die indeed before the thing-that-had-been-Fian would reach for him, too. That the others would suffice until he was dead.

_Now you lay and wait, for their screams will haunt you in your dreams._

Soon.

The claw grabbed him by the ankle and started to draw him towards the Broodmother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gore, Horror, Broodmother, Major Character Death, Torture, Rape Allusions


	26. "You keep me warm."

Cullen had changed.

Not in a flash but slowly, indiscernible at first. It was like everything about him, everything that made him _him_ held slightly more emphasis than before. The good and the bad.

One day, Cassia had noticed the change had become bigger. More pronounced. Cullen had always been driven. But now? That drive had slowly turned into an immovable single-mindedness.

The care he had always held for her had become so much more. The unshakable desire to keep her safe and sound and close to him.

Cassia wondered sometimes if they could have stopped it. If they could have gone down another path together. One filled with laughter. With light. If they had stayed away from the red...

There was no light in her life anymore. She hadn’t seen the sun in months. The only fresh air she ever got came with the short breeze that filled the room whenever he visited her. 

Once a day, if he could. Sometimes he stayed away longer. 

“Things to do,” he usually mumbled when she had waited for him for days on end. _Keeping you safe,_ was another thing he usually said when he explained his absence.

Cassia had long stopped asking what exactly that entailed. Had stopped mentioning the dried blood on his clothes just as she had stopped noticing the glint of madness in his eyes. 

Red eyes.

They hadn’t always been red. She knew that. But somehow, she couldn’t really remember anymore what color they had been before. 

His embrace was soothing, bringing the calm with it she only ever felt when he was near her. She couldn’t move when he was away, could barely feel the passage of time. Only with his arms around her did she come alive again.

Shackled… 

She dimly remembered feeling like that once. Like she was bound to him by force, regardless of her wishes. But she wasn’t sure if the vague feeling in her head was a memory or just a dream she once had. Now, she knew better at least. She was bound to him. Destined to never, ever be apart from him. But she wasn’t shackled. That would imply she didn’t want to be here, after all. 

Why wouldn’t she, when being right here was her entire life?

“I grow cold whenever you leave,” she said, her voice raspy as she slowly moved her hand. Everything about moving was so heavy nowadays. Took so much effort. But the look on his face was always worth it, as it was this time when her hand cupped his cheek. His eyes lit up with a fiery glow in them just before they closed in reverence as he savored her touch.

“I am back now,” Cullen whispered quietly. “And I won’t have to leave for a while.”

Cassia knew. She could see it in is blood-soaked clothes and his dented shield. He had fought off a lot of them. Kept their space hidden and safe for a while longer. Her fingertips slid down his face, gently caressing both skin and red stone alike.

“You keep me warm,” she sighed, just before his lips found hers. He always did. Even now that the crystal had started to grow around her, had made her body heavy until she could no longer move. He would never leave her, no. He would always keep her safe. Even when their entire world had become red, he would still be there to keep her warm.


	27. "Can you wait for me?"

On a bright, yet still somewhat fresh spring day, Samson stood at the market stalls, trying to look busy. Unassuming. Like he wasn’t just there to sneak a few careful glances towards the lovely woman owning the fruit stand.

“Are you coming?” his friend said impatiently, shifting his weight from one foot to the other with the usual unease of standing still for a prolonged time in heavy armor. “We are going to be late!”

With a sigh, Samson nodded and turned away from the captivating sight. He had already delivered the hidden letter to her after all, and so he followed Cullen back to the barracks.

* * *

On a windy day, early that summer, Samson found himself browsing the same wares. His hand shook slightly as he pulled out his thin coin purse and paid for the scarf. Despite the time of the year, he couldn’t help but feel cold.

“Are you quite done?” Another friend. A newly made one. One of necessity. No armor on either of them. Not anymore.

Out of the corner of his eye, Samson saw her smiling at customers, filling up the basket of an older lady with fresh strawberries.

“Can you wait for me?” he asked, but the man beside him just shook his head.

“They’ll be gone with the product if we are late. So, are you coming or not?”

He was ready to sigh and nod, clutching the scarf tighter between his ice-cold fingers when her eyes suddenly met his. He should look away. Creepily staring at strangers at the market wasn’t a good first impression to make, but somehow, he felt frozen. That was when she nodded and smiled at him, and something in him thawed.

“Go ahead without me,” he mumbled before taking heart and approaching the fruit stand. The shaking of his hands and the coldness in his limbs were all but forgotten under the radiance of a smile. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to say hello. 

* * *

On a rainy night, almost at the brink of autumn, Samson knew only pain. The shaking was unstoppable and the craving…

“I need to go,” he insisted. “I need to get down to the docks. Find someone that sells it…”

“You need to calm yourself and lie back down,” a melodic voice chided slightly from above him.

Rania was nothing if not persistent. Whether it was when selling her wares on the market or when deciding he needed rest - there was no arguing with her. He tried anyway.

“No, you don’t understand. I _need_ this.” He tried to sit up again. “I need the lyrium…”

A hand on his shoulder gently pressed him down again. Samson didn’t have the energy to even try and fight it.

“You don’t need it,” she said quietly while pressing something warm and soothing against his forehead. “You can make it through this, I know you can.”

Rania had more faith in him than he himself. From the moment they had started talking, she had believed in him. From her initial gratefulness for him delivering her father’s letters from the Circle to her insistence to help him after being thrown out of the Order, she had never failed to tell him how certain she was that he would make it.

“I need…” he trailed off, too tired to even remember what he wanted to say.

“Shh,” the soothing voice made again. “You don’t need the lyrium, I promise! You only need to hold on to me!”

And so he did, never letting go, not even when falling into a deep slumber.

* * *

On a bright and warm spring day, almost a year after he had first met her, Samson could do nothing but smile at the woman standing in front of him, now officially his wife. Smile at the proud look in her eyes when his hand barely shook as he gently slid the ring onto her finger. Smile at the laughter around them. The cheers and the songs.

There weren’t that many guests, just their closest neighbors, and one or two old friends, and the decorations were simple - fruits and flowers. And them.

And again, Samson smiled, knowing there was nothing else he would ever want right at that moment.

“I am beyond glad to see you smile like that. On a day like this.” The voice of his oldest friend in this city made him turn around.

“Well, it’s probably not where either of us thought I’d end up, is it?” he said with a chuckle.

Cullen shook his head. “No, not even close. But I see how happy you are, and by now, I think…” He took a deep breath. “I think maybe leaving as you did was a good thing after all. For you.”

Samson could only nod at those words. “It was,” he agreed. He hadn’t seen it as such at first, but by now, he was certain that being forced to leave the templars behind was definitely the best thing that could have happened to him.

“You could leave too, you know?” he said quietly. “You don’t have to wait until things turn so bad that there are no choices left…”

Cullen’s posture shifted, his face suddenly more serious than before. “Maybe,” he agreed. “One day perhaps. But I can’t just…”

His voice trailed off, but Samson knew where his thoughts went. He had a family, too. A child. And a city that was on the verge of tearing itself apart.

“Listen,” Cullen said quietly, later that evening. “Things are changing, but I fear much will get worse before anything good can come of it. Maybe Kirkwall isn’t the place where you want to start a family of your own right now.”

He was one of the very few people that Samson had told about his newlywed wife being with child already, and Samson could see the worry on his friend’s face and hear the frustration in his voice about Cullen's own situation, and he sighed.

“Perhaps it is time to move on then,” Samson said, more to himself. “A new place for a new life.”

* * *

On a rainy summer's day, Samson got word about what happened in his former home. The Chantry gone, an explosion rattling the city. He doubted that this was in any way close to what Cullen had in mind when he had told him to get out back then, but it was a change nonetheless.

He hoped that the few people he still cared about in Kirkwall were alright and would find a way to move on somehow.

It was all he could do, he thought as he went back to cleaning up behind his two rowdy children, trying his best to give their mother a few well deserved moments of rest. That, and sending a quiet _thank you_ to his friend for making the suggestion to leave when he did.

* * *

On a bitingly cold day in the midst of winter, Samson heard about the conclave. It had been years since had worried about anything that had to do with mages or templars. And not even the dire news about the sky opening and demons appearing everywhere seemed like something to worry about. Not when it was that far away.

Some of the people in the nearby town were talking about making the long trip into the mountains. Of joining this so-called Inquisition. But not him. He listened to the thoughts and decisions of the townsfolk while stocking up, listened to the bright-eyed youths in the tavern at lunch — and then he went home. Back to the small farm and the by now four pairs of eyes that had become his entire life. This wasn’t his fight anymore. He doubted that his involvement in any of this would make a difference. Not to mention making anything better.

* * *

On a lovely warm day, more than two summers later, he was proven right. The news spread through all the lands. Of the evil being defeated. Of mighty battles and desperate fights that had saved them all in the end. With a smile and a not-too-small bout of relief, he read the name of his old friend in one of the letters, telling him all that had happened. Wishing him well and sending the regards of his own family. They had both made it, albeit on very different paths. But when he read about all the fighting and all that it had apparently cost them, Samson couldn’t help but feel like he had gotten the better deal. And as he watched the sunset that evening, children asleep in his lap and an arm around the love of his life, he closed his eyes to not let the tears of joy fall as he realized that he had done the impossible. And that all was well.


	28. "Enough! I've heard enough!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check End Notes for Chapter Warnings

With a look of complete wonder and awe, Merrill let her hands wander over the frame, the faded gold and dark wood. It was old, so very old that it was more like stone, but she could feel that it was wood. Or once had been wood. The subtle flexibility that such a living substance normally held was long gone, replaced by the stoic solidity that stone or metal had. She followed her fingers with her eyes, her mind busy as she concentrated on the feeling beneath her palms, the tell-tale tickle of her magic reacting to... _something_. And yet, to nothing.

With a sigh, she let her hands sink down again and sat back on her heels, looking at her mirror.

“Why won’t you talk to me?” she whispered, but there was no disappointment in her voice. So far, the mirror had managed to hold her fascination, her curiosity. Her love. But despite that connection she could feel ever since she had managed to restore the shards to a smooth surface again, ever since she had battled the Taint from it — _the Taint! _— nothing else seemed to work. It was as if the mirror waited, waited for her to do the one right thing so it could finally wake.

Merrill knew every twist and turn that the frame took, every nook and chip and curve of the old branch-like wooden decorations that once held the gate to their home. If she concentrated hard enough, she could even remember the faint lines that had once been on the now smooth, unblemished mirror surface where she had fit the shards together.

But whatever she did, how deep she went into her magic, how much she drew from the Fade or her blood... it remained blind. The door was closed.

She had tried so hard to convince the Keeper to help her. But Marethari was too scared, too fixated on retaining what they already had that she couldn’t see the possibilities that the mirror held. The promises, the beauty. This could be the key to their past, to the secrets they had long lost. This could be their salvation — but the Keeper couldn’t see it. Merrill had even tried to convince Marethari to let her leave the clan to go with the shemlen and take the mirror with her, but even though the Keeper couldn't see the merits of the mirror, she was not prepared to let it go either; and so she had forbidden Merrill to leave.

“Enough! I’ve heard enough!” the Keeper had snapped at her the last time that Merrill had spoken to her, and there had been something in her eyes that Merrill had not seen before. Fear and worry, she knew. But anger was new.

Taken aback, she had stared at her mentor.

Marethari had taken a deep breath, holding up her hands. “You go too far, da’len!”

That had been the moment Merrill had become angry. She was no child anymore, and she was tired of being told off as if she was still ten years old. “I’m doing what you taught me to do, Keeper!”

“You—“ Marethari had interjected, but Merrill had only shaken her head.

“I am doing what _you_ should do. What you cannot do. I am doing more than try to preserve our history, I am trying to reclaim what we lost. Why can’t you understand that? I am doing _your_ job, Keeper!” And with that, she had turned and left, going back to work. Back to her mirror.

She would not be so easily put off. Not now, not after everything she had already sacrificed.

A flicker in the glimmering surface of the mirror made her look up and turn. The barrier she formed was instinctive, but she let it fall again as she recognized several of her clan members. A strangely detached feeling rose in her as she looked at the drawn bows and sharp arrows pointed at her. So this was it, the moment that would define it all.

“Pol,” she said softly as she recognized her old friend, but he pressed his lips together and shook his head.

“The Keeper sent us,” he said in a slightly choked voice, but despite his obvious distress, his bow did not waver.

“Of course she did,” Merrill nodded calmly. “Of course she did.” She sighed. “Did she tell you what the mirror can do?”

“Nothing. It can do nothing,” Karos snapped. “By order of the Keeper, we will remove the blood mage from our clan.”

“But—“

“It’s too late, Merrill,” Pol said, and Merrill let her hands sink, a look of utter devastation on her face as the bowstrings sang and the arrows found their mark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major Character Death


	29. "I'm doing this for you"

Hissrad ultimately hadn’t thought that it would be that easy. He also knew he would have hesitated, once upon a time. But that was before he had done the right thing and turned himself over to reeducation for the second time. They had fixed him. Made him whole again. Able to do his job. 

When he joined the Inquisition with the missive to get close to someone at the top, he thought long and hard about whom to approach for this goal. The Inquisitor herself did not look like the easiest option, guarded and distrustful as she was. But somehow, something he had said, had done, made her warm up to him despite all her reservations, it seemed.

He watched her interactions with others, saw what she reacted to, how she flinched at certain moments, how her eyes narrowed at others. For the first few weeks, he didn’t seek her out on his own, he just watched. And learned. 

When he finally approached her, it was with a careful balance of all he had gathered so far. Unassuming and less guarded than Leliana, friendly and open like Josephine, but with none of the hints of nobility that always made the Inquisitor shut herself off again. His enjoyment of battle the same as Cassandra’s, but without her stoic demeanor. The Inquisitor enjoyed a good laugh after all. Tactical and methodical, just like Cullen, but without the military mannerisms that always made the Inquisitor almost shrink into herself.

He saw what she appreciated and what she disliked - and became the perfect conglomeration of his observations with almost no effort at all.

After that, it became almost laughingly easy.

She had been hurt before. Had been through something terrible. He didn’t even need her to tell him, he could see it in her every time they spoke. 

She told him anyway. At some point. After he had made himself invaluable as a shoulder to lean on. As someone who listened. 

The day he saw her eyes linger on him as he turned away after a training session, he knew his mission would be a success.

He was careful to never give her unwanted advice. He always waited until she came to him. He had seen how she reacted to her advisors or even her friends telling her what she should do - it was a sure way to make her do the exact opposite. And so he waited. 

He didn’t have to wait long until she came to him. Just as expected. What followed after was almost boring in how by the book it was. The promise of intimacy without judgement turned her into clay in his hands. Unsettling her just enough every now and then, so she would doubt herself and he could reassure her of his acceptance. Giving her all the praise and security she so craved. 

She had been so starved for any positive attention, for anything that came without a price tag attached, that it felt almost like cheating to him. This was supposed to be work after all.

It didn’t take long until she trusted him implicitly. Until she was so eager for his praise and his reassurances that making them into rewards for following his every word didn’t even register with her.

The stage was set, and Hissrad played his part to perfection. Despite all eyes being on the Inquisitor at almost all times, no one noticed how each night, he quietly broke her apart only to build her up again. Over and over. Each time a bit more towards the Qun and a little further away from her old self. 

One night, they lay together in the dark, all of Skyhold around them in a deep slumber already. He had exhausted her, let her work out all her frustrations about some political decisions she had to make when she suddenly turned her head towards him.

“Bull, what would you suggest I should do?” she asked quietly.

“I’m not a political advisor,” he said with a chuckle. None of the satisfaction he felt at her question made it into his voice.

“I know,” she sighed. “But you’re smart. You understand all these things just as much and I… I trust you.”

She couldn’t see the smile on his face as he held her close. His answer gently stirring her towards a solution none of her advisors would like. By morning, she was ready to stand her ground against them. Her words and arguments sounded like her own, and Hissrad knew he was close.

“I’m doing this for you, boss,” he kept whispering in her ear whenever he made her do something for him. Hissrad didn’t get his name for nothing, after all. 

Though if he looked at it objectively, it wasn’t even a lie. She would probably see it as such if she knew all he really thought, but from his perspective, it was true. He was doing all this for her. For all of them. Every single person in the Inquisition. All those people that were running around in their little lives, aimlessly. Empty. So devoid of purpose that they kept making up reasons to fight each other, to kill each other and live in a constant state of unrest.

When the Qunari invasion came, about two years after the defeat of Corypheus, they found the nations of Thedas weak and divided. The Inquisition a broken husk of an organisation, in no position to mount a defense. 

He might be lying to everyone else, but he was not going to lie to himself and deny that he had somewhat grown fond of her. His Inquisitor. She still had a long way to go, but she had potential. Out of all the projects he had in his assignments, she had slowly become the one he was most proud of.

He _was_ doing it for her. After all, when they had met, she had been a broken shell of a woman. Afraid of her own shadow and so, so brittle… He had slipped through her cracks and filled her up with himself. With the Qun. And when he was done, she would no longer be broken. She would be made whole again under the Qun. Just like he had been. 

Just like all of Thedas would be.


	30. "I'm with you, you know that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check End Notes for Chapter Warnings

“I’m with you, you know that.”

Fenris’ voice was quiet, soothing, but Adriene heard the slight hitch before the words came, the nearly unnoticeable pause. Not that she blamed him. She wouldn’t be with _herself_ if she had a choice.

Not that she had.

She let out a silent breath as she felt Fenris’ hand come from her shoulder to her neck in a soft caress and turned her head to the side to look at him. She had her knees pulled up, arms wrapped around them. Her hair was a tangled mess, and the swollen redness of her eyes and cheeks spoke of the many, many tears she had shed.

“How can you?” she asked, her voice ragged. “I’ve… truly messed up this time, and I can’t fix this anymore. How can you be with me when I’m the cause of… this?!”

Her voice broke again as she gestured towards the letter that had accompanied the chest with Carver’s head. Only Carver’s head. 

When Adriene had killed Leliana, the Divine’s agent, to stop a potential Exalted March on Kirkwall, she had worried about the Divine finding out what had happened. That she had reacted in rage, that she had decided that this agent could never leave Kirkwall.

It had been a sound reasoning in that moment — the Grand Cleric did not listen to anything, had ignored her responsibility towards the mages and the city for years and years, why would a Chantry agent listen to someone not of the Chantry all of a sudden? If Leliana would leave to report to the Divine with the Grand Cleric’s and the Knight-Commander’s urging in her pocket, the Exalted March would come, Adriene had been sure of it. And she could not allow that.

She had feared that the Chantry would become even more oppressive against Kirkwall’s mages in retaliation. But never had she stopped to think who else might be affected by Leliana’s death.

And certainly not that the Hero of Ferelden, Warden-Commander in Amaranthine and Carver’s direct superior, was her wife. Even less that she would, as a reaction, kill her brother and send her his head. They hadn’t heard from Bethany until Cullen had received a letter from the Circle in Ferelden from a former templar friend asking him if his wife’s maiden name wasn’t Hawke and if she was related by any chance to the new Tranquil in Lake Calenhad’s Circle, Bethany Hawke…?

Anders had told her everything he knew about the Hero, but by then, she was already sure that Aren Surana did not make idle threats. She meant exactly what she had written.

Adriene knew the letter by heart.

_You killed the one person I loved. Now I will kill everyone you ever loved. And I will make you watch._

Fenris didn’t follow her gesture and only looked at her, this time without wavering. “Adriene, you did not know. How could you?”

“Does it matter? The outcome is the same.” Fresh tears started to spill over her cheeks, and Fenris wiped them gently away. Before he could answer, though, she added huskily, “You should leave, Fenris, you should get as far away from me as you can. Take Bela and the others and get out of Kirkwall. Maybe if I go to Amaranthine and give myself up, she will spare all of you. Maybe if she gets to kill me, she’ll be satisfied, maybe—”

“No,” he interrupted her, shaking his head. “No. I will not let you do this, amata, and you know it.”

He took her face into his hands and pressed a kiss onto her lips. “Whatever she throws at us, we will fight it, together,” he murmured, leaning his forehead against hers. Adriene suppressed a sob as she closed her eyes.

“How are we supposed to fight the Hero of Ferelden, Fenris?” she asked, finally giving her rigid pose up to wrap her arms around him. “I don’t know how to fight a legend.”

He held her close to him, caressing her hair. “We’re not going to fight a legend. Behind the legend, there’s only a woman.”

Adriene nodded, burying her face in his shoulder. A woman she could fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major Character Death


	31. "Scared, me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check End Notes for Chapter Warnings

“Scared, me?” Her words were dripping with disbelief. “Did I seem scared the last time? Or the time before that? Did I look scared to you when we made a bargain before?”

It was quiet around them. No sounds but her soft breathing and the low hum of the song of the Taint in the back of her head.

“No,” came the low and rumbling answer. “But your request is… rather unusual.”

“Unusual it may be, but can you honestly tell me it is not something that you want?” At his silence, Aren narrowed her eyes. His hesitant reaction started to make sense. 

“Ah,” she said softly. “That’s it, isn’t it? You _want_ this. Desperately. But you’re not sure you can trust me…” She let out a chuckle. “I’m not the one who is scared, it seems…”

Those words triggered a visible change within him as he straightened up to his full height. If Aren had anything left to lose, she would have been intimidated. Afraid even. 

“Careful,” he said, for the first time with the barest hint of menace in his voice. “We’ve had a mutually beneficial arrangement before, but while I value your cooperation, you’d be wise to watch your tone!”

Aren let out a sigh. “I apologize.” It would not do to antagonize someone as powerful and as useful as the Architect. Not now. Not when she was so close. “It has been a very, very long week,” she added with a much softer tone than before. 

“You are not afraid, but you are grieving,” he mused after another long look at her. Aren simply shrugged.

“Contrary to being afraid, grief not something I can simply stop,” she admitted. 

The last few days had been sheer torture. From the moment she had gotten the news, everything in Aren had started to scream but she had been unable to show even the slightest bit of it on the outside. Not if she wanted to have any chance at revenge. 

Was it revenge, though? Aren was rather certain it was more akin to justice. And so she had stayed calm. Hidden away the letters, stopped the news from reaching anyone else and carried on as if nothing was wrong while her insides were burning with rage, never stopping the silent screams. 

Kirkwall. 

_Leliana_... 

**Hawke**... 

She took a deep breath before straightening up again. “So, back to my proposal. Do you accept?”

“I see the advantages,” the Architect said slowly. 

Aren had known he would see the benefits of her proposal. A chance to stop hiding away underground. A very well defendable stronghold. The proximity to powerful magics and close access to the Deep Roads…

“You’ve wanted more for your Darkspawn for such a long time, this is the chance,” she noted again.

He nodded. “As I said, I see the advantages. But I also see the risks…. There are many Wardens on the surface who will not share your… particular point of view.”

Aren snorted at his roundabout way of pointing out that they would not look kindly on her betrayal. But there was a solution for that as well.

“You’ve had plenty of my blood to experiment on the Taint. Are you telling me you can’t use what you’ve learned and adapt it to control Wardens just like the Darkspawn?” she asked with a challenge in her voice that did not go unnoticed. The gleeful spark of interest in his eyes told her she had gotten one step closer to getting what she wanted.

“I would need more blood for that,” he said, a calculating look on his face that Aren simply smiled at.

“Lucky for you then that I brought enough to spare.” She motioned to the door at the far end of the room, where she had left behind the small group she had taken with her from the Keep. ‘To stand guard in case anything happens’ had been her last words to them. She knew he was aware of their presence.

“The Wardens are all the same,” Aren mused. “Always so hungry. Never really slowing down before wolfing down their next meal.” She knew that if she were to open the door right now, they would find all of them deeply asleep and completely defenseless. 

“I take it they did not volunteer,” the Architect stated dryly. “They will struggle when they awake.”

“Most likely,” Aren agreed. “If you leave them alive that is. Far be it from me to tell you how to do your work.” At his questioning look, she shrugged again. “Do with them whatever you want. I don’t care anymore. Except for the dark-haired one. I still need him,” she added.

“Is this really what you want?”

It was quiet again, the echo of his question hanging around the room with no chance of escaping. 

Aren had to laugh at the question. A broken, brittle sound that felt right at home in the immeasurable wrongness of the situation around her.

“What I want? I want my wife back,” she said quietly. “I want the love of my life to be not dead. I want the only woman who had ever bothered to see behind the facade and get to know the real me to return to me. I want the person who taught me how to feel to be here, so she can tell me how I am supposed to live with all these feelings, with all the _pain_…” Her voice was shaking for a moment, her tightly maintained composure almost cracking before she took in a deep breath. Only Leliana had ever truly seen the woman behind the mask. Without her, Aren had no reason to hold on to herself anymore. The woman was dead. All that was left was her anger, her rage and her need for vengeance.

“I can never get what I really want, so this will have to do,” she finally said. An army at her disposal. Full of creatures that knew no fear, no hesitation. They would raze that blighted city to the ground, and if Hawke would manage to flee, she would follow the woman to the end of the world. With another look at the door, she squared her shoulders.

“You know what? You can have all of them. I don’t really need him,” she said with a newfound determination. “All I need is his head…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major Character Death


	32. Epilogue

“Enough!”

The word broke from him, harsher than intended, and with a quick gesture, Fen’Harel wiped the pictures of fire and death spreading over the Free Marches from the Eluvian’s surface. As he turned away from the mirror, he saw the smile hidden in the corner of Mythal’s mouth.

Darkness had fallen around them, only a few torches throwing flickering, orange light over the temple’s floor. Beneath them, the forest stretched, black and silent. For a long moment, he let the silence fall into himself, breathing the cool night air deep in, to erase the uproar inside him.

He was careful not to let it show, hands clasped tightly behind his back, chin raised as he held his gaze firmly at the horizon. He shouldn’t even feel this uproar. He should be distanced, untouchable by the fates of this world’s people. Soon, if — when — his plans would come to fruition, they would all perish anyway, and the fires spreading over Thedas would make those he had just seen wiping Kirkwall, Wycome, and Starkhaven from the face of this earth seem pale in comparison.

He couldn’t be deterred. Not even by the fate of the people he had gotten to know… had come to respect. Had come to care for. _To love._

For a second, he closed his eyes, breathing deeply, then he said without looking back at Mythal, “I fail to see the merit of this little exercise.”

The smile was obvious in her voice as she answered, "My dear friend, who said it has to have _merit_?”

The fabric of her clothes rustled slightly as she moved towards him, coming to stand next to him. “Choices, Fen’Harel,” she said with dark amusement. “You could have seen so many versions of reality, and yet you chose to look for alternatives that would be worse..." She chuckled. “What was it that you told your Inquisitor? You are indeed grim and fatalistic. I remember a time where that was very different.”

Fen’Harel scoffed. “That was a very long time ago, Mythal.”

There was a touch on his shoulder, and he inadvertently tensed.

“Not so long ago, Solas…” she murmured.

For a second, silence lay heavy between them.

Then, he pulled himself up straighter, and said more defensively than intended, “And yet, not all of them were worse futures. There was one…”

A low chuckle interrupted him. “You mean the one I managed to sneak in while you were distracted?”

He turned to glare at Mythal, but she seemed only amused. “Choices, Solas,” she repeated, nearly softly.

Again, he scoffed, but it lacked sincerity. Mythal just raised an eyebrow, and he turned back to look over the forest. “You know just as well as I that those dark alternatives are those that are more likely to happen,” he said after a moment. “Your ‘better’ future that never came to pass showed that better than anything else. People are not like that, you know it. And the best intentions do not change that.” A hint of bitterness was on his face as he muttered, “I know that better than most.”

“Do not think you are the only one with regrets, Fen’Harel. Stop wallowing in it,” Mythal snapped with a sharpness to her voice that made him turn back to her in surprise.

“Choices, Solas,” she murmured a third time, almost to herself. “We all made them. For better or worse.” Then she seemed to collect herself and turned back to him. “And yet, some indeed _are_ for the better. You might not want to see it, but…” She interrupted herself, smiling again, and turned her golden eyes on him. “Have it your way — for now. I sat through watching all your dark expectations come to fruit… one day I'll show you what else the world has to offer. And maybe you will even listen.”

She stood at the Eluvian and held a hand out over it. It flickered slightly, and again, faces appeared, people, moments. _Var lath vir suledin._ A smile. A rift, closing. Cole’s eyes. Kieran, looking at Mythal. Morrigan, pleading. _I am many things, but I will not be the mother you were to me._ Waterfalls. A dragon.

Then the still darkness of the Eluvian.


End file.
